Meaning
by JoanieNobody
Summary: Terminator Salvation AU. Marcus lives, though he's not sure why. Adrift, he goes through the motions of day-to-day existence. But with Blair's help, he will discover that even a resurrected murderer's life can have meaning. *Rating Change!* Now M for Adult Content.
1. Linger

**A/N:** Yeah, I know, the first two movies were better (and if I had it my way, the third movie would be expunged from all memory), but I have to say _Terminator Salvation_ really wasn't all that bad for a superfluous sequel. The main reason being, of course, the character of Marcus Wright. He totally stole the movie right out from John Connor's nose, heroically kicking ass and looking sexy while doing it. And then he died. Sure, it was a noble gesture and all, sacrificing his heart so John Connor could live, but come on! What was the point of him going through all that just to _give up_ at the end?

Apparently, I'm not the only one who felt that way, 'cause I saw more than a few "Marcus lives" fanfics here. This will be my own modest contribution to the genre. Marcus/Blair all the way, 'cause that's how I likes it. ;-D

PS-Don't worry, I'm still working on my _Walking Dead_ fic. Read and enjoy.

**Disclaimer: Nothing about _Terminator Salvation_ or any of the _Terminator_ movies is mine.**

**lin·ger [líng gər]**

(_past_ lin·gered, _past participle _lin·gered, _present participle _lin·ger·ing, _3rd person present singular_ lin·gers)

_v_

1. delay leaving: _to put off leaving a place because you are reluctant to go_

2. wait around: _to wait around or move about a place slowly and idly_

3. be barely alive: _to remain alive, although very weak, while gradually dying_

_Skynet Facility & Resistance Safe Zone_

John Connor didn't have to save him. He could've left him lying there and gotten the hell out before that T-800 broke loose from the molten metal that had hardened around it. But instead he spent precious seconds jump-starting Marcus's heart, and for that he almost died. Marcus wished he had a reason to thank him. He really did.

The look on Barnes's face when he saw who half-carried wounded John Connor out of that Skynet facility was priceless. But he quickly shook it off and hurried to support John's other side. They scrambled into the helicopter with John's wife Kate and a liberated Star and Kyle Reese. Once airborne, Star pulled a small box, some kind of remote, out of her pocket and passed it over to John, who then pressed a button, resulting in the Skynet facility with its Terminator factory and its experimental lab getting blown to hell. It was a sight Marcus was glad to witness, since it was there that his donated body was violated and reshaped into the thing it was now. He only wished it was so easy to destroy the machine in him.

Once they landed in the closest safe zone and delivered John to the makeshift tent hospital, Kate tended her husband's injuries with brisk efficiency. Only her pursed lips betrayed the emotions roiling beneath the surface. Once John was stitched and bandaged up, she approached the group hovering just outside the tent.

"How is he?" Barnes asked.

Kate slowly let out a breath and her whole body seemed to relax a little. "If that metal bar had stabbed him just a couple of millimeters to the left, it would've done severe damage to his heart."

"But he's gonna be okay, right?" Kyle asked anxiously.

She nodded. "He's gonna be fine. Assuming he'll stay in bed long enough to recuperate," she added a touch sardonically.

Blair snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that." Barnes nodded in agreement, a smile of relieved amusement tugging the corners of his mouth.

Kate then turned to Marcus, who'd been silent throughout the exchange. She licked her full lips, obviously working up the nerve to say something. Then she forced herself to meet his eyes and said, "Thank you. For saving him."

Marcus couldn't think of a better way to respond than a simple nod. It seemed to be enough to satisfy Kate. She turned away and walked back to her husband's side, checking his vitals yet again as if to reassure herself he really did survive.

Marcus felt a small presence at his side and looked down to find Star staring up at him with those solemn dark eyes of hers. The little girl shocked him by taking hold of his left hand, not in the least put off by its bare metal components. Marcus curled his mechanical fingers around her small hand and felt his throat tighten. Star smiled at him, so trusting. He managed to smile back.

* * *

_Resistance Base, 24 hrs later..._

Marcus sat in the mess hall, eating a plate of pork and beans that probably came out of a can that was older than Kyle. It was an odd time between meal shifts, so there were only a handful of others in the mess hall. None of them asked to share a seat at Marcus's table. They cast wary glances his way and whispered furtively among themselves. He ignored them, feeling like the outcast of a high school lunchroom.

The Resistance fighters obviously had no idea how they should act around him. On the one hand, Marcus was a machine, the very thing they spent their lives fighting. On the other hand, he saved John Connor and helped with the rescue of hundreds of prisoners and the destruction of the Skynet facility, so they couldn't exactly put a bullet in his skull by way of thanks. Also, Kate Connor spread the word that while most of his inner workings were artificial, Marcus's brain was still very much human, and he'd literally ripped out the interface chip Skynet used to control him. So, for the most part, everyone treated him with wary respect and kept their distance, which was fine by him.

Marcus scooped another spoonful of beans into his mouth and chewed without enthusiasm. As it turned out, he did need to eat, though not often and not nearly as much as a human did. The food was necessary to maintain his organic components; his skin and heart, but most of all his brain. He didn't really feel hunger, though. More like a compulsion, an instinct. He was damaged, a little voice said _I should eat_, so he ate. That was all there was to it.

He held up his left hand and watched in mild fascination as new skin ever-so-slowly crept up the exposed metal bones. At this rate his hand would be good as new by morning. The wonders of modern technology, he thought sourly.

"This seat taken?"

His head jerked up at the familiar voice. Blair smirked at his startled look, ignoring how he quickly pulled his sleeve up to conceal his damaged hand. She was holding a full plate, its contents steaming weakly. "Well?"

Marcus sighed, waved his spoon at the empty chairs all around him. "Take your pick."

She sat down directly across from him and immediately dug into her meal. Marcus couldn't remember ever seeing a woman eat with such gusto. All the women he ever knew always ate with such tiny, dainty bites. But then again, she lived in a world where things like regular meals were rarely a given, and food could never be taken for granted. And yet, though she practically shoveled the food into her mouth, Blair somehow managed to look dignified as she did so. Marcus knew he'd just look like a slob if he tried that.

"Guess yours tastes better than mine," he said wryly.

Blair covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Actually," she managed after a hasty swallow, "I figure the faster I eat it, the less I'll have to taste it."

Marcus smiled in response. Neither of them bothered with further conversation until both plates were finally empty. Blair leaned back in her chair with a sigh and regarded the man across from her. "You've been awful quiet since we got here."

Marcus shrugged. "Not much to say, I guess."

"Any of the officers talk to you about getting on some kind of work detail?"

_Yeah, right._ "Uh, actually," Marcus shifted in his seat, "I wasn't really planning to stick around."

Blair frowned. "You're leaving?"

He stared down at his empty plate. "Yeah."

"And go where?"

He shrugged again.

Blair stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then she leaned forward, her expression earnest. "You could make a difference here. Hell, you've already done more than most fighters manage their whole lives! The Resistance needs someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Marcus scoffed, finally meeting her eyes. "The Resistance is for humans, Blair. In case you haven't noticed," he held up his left hand with its gleaming metal fingers, "I don't exactly fit the company profile."

"Why? 'Cause you got a few metal parts in you?"

"Way more than a _few_."

"I don't care if you clank like the goddamned Tin Man," Blair snapped, "I didn't take a bullet to the leg helping a _machine_ escape. I busted you out because I know you're more than that. You're as human as I am, where it really matters."

"Yeah," he said, clearly humoring her. He stood, picked up his plate. "Thanks for the pep talk." He walked away, tossing his empty plate into the plastic tub with the rest of the dirty dishes. Blair watched his retreating back with a worried look, wanting to go after him, wondering if she should. Then he was out the door and the moment was gone.

* * *

_Resistance Base, 2 weeks later..._

In the end, Marcus decided to stay. He pretended it had nothing to do with his conversation with Blair.

John initially offered him a chance at combat, but one look at Barnes's hard expression convinced Marcus that wasn't such a good idea. While having someone with his abilities would give the Resistance an edge, none of the other fighters would ever really trust him, and without trust, he would only be a liability. So instead, he took a job in the motor pool. Probably somebody's idea of a joke, a cyborg grease monkey. But all those misspent years jacking cars and working in chop shops did come in handy in maintaining the Resistance's aging vehicles. Plus, he got to work alone most of the time, which he preferred. He probably would've toiled away 24/7 if his organic brain didn't require the occasional period of REM sleep. Initially, he was given a bunk in the area designated for singles. Row upon row of narrow cots, with only a few thin curtains between them to offer a semblance of privacy. Space was at a premium, yet after a couple of nights Marcus noticed that his neighbors had scooted their beds a few inches away from his, sacrificing some of their precious breathing room just to put a little distance between him and them. It was more guilt than anger that motivated him to move out. No point in upsetting people by inflicting himself on them. He ended up setting up a makeshift home in a lonely corner of the motor pool, partitioned off from the vast garage space with stacks of old crates. It was just a folding cot and a footlocker that held more air than possessions. All he needed, really. He hardly ever left the motor pool, except for meals, and rarely spoke to anyone. When he wasn't working, he holed up in his tiny bunk and, if he was very lucky, got through the night without any dreams.

He got a few visitors. Kyle dropped by with Star in tow. Star was spending most of her time in what passed for school for the Resistance children. Being around other kids seemed to be doing her some good. Though she still didn't talk, she was a lot less somber than before. As for Kyle, it seemed John Connor had taken him under his wing. The kid went on and on about all the things he was learning from his hero. Marcus was happy for him and Star. It was nice to see them practically thriving after all the hardships they'd endured. It was almost enough to make him believe humanity still had a chance.

As for Blair, most of her daylight hours were taken up in the air doing recon. Even though Skynet was crippled in their little patch of the world, there was still the risk of stray Hunter-Killers or Terminators stumbling upon the base. Best the Resistance keep their eyes peeled so they don't get caught with their pants down. This of course meant that Marcus didn't really get the chance to see her except maybe in passing in one of the corridors. Marcus had mixed feelings about this. He missed seeing her, but at the same time he was glad for it. He wasn't really sure he could handle another "you're still a human being" talk from her.

_The human condition no longer applies to you._

But still...he missed her.

Marcus lay in his bunk, waiting for sleep to come to him. He stared up at the cracked and water-stained ceiling and listened to the repetitive drip-drip of condensation or a leaky pipe somewhere. This converted missile silo and underground bunker was barely habitable. He wouldn't be surprised if the whole place collapsed on their heads one of these days. But it wasn't as if the Resistance had a lot of options, real estate wise.

_Drip...drip...drip..._ Steady as a clock. He remembered the rhythmic ticking of the second hand on the clock hanging in his execution chamber. He was sure they kept that ancient thing for dramatic effect, so the condemned wouldn't be able to help themselves as they counted down the last seconds of their lives. Even though Marcus was ready to die - _wanted_ it, even - those brief moments of silence between each tick were agony.

_Drip...drip...drip..._

Funny, all that listening and he didn't even hear the approaching footsteps. The quiet knocks on the jerry-rigged wall of his bunk startled him out of his morbid thoughts. He sat up. "Who is it?"

"It's me," Blair's voice, quiet, like she was visiting a tomb, which was certainly what the motor pool felt like late at night. What the hell was she doing here at this hour? Marcus got up and went to the gap in the partition that was his bunk's door, pushed aside the hanging blanket to reveal Blair still in her flight suit, hair mussed from hours spent crammed under a helmet and dark rings under her eyes. "I know it's late," she said apologetically, "I ran into some HKs on my last recon and just now got outta debriefing." She huffed a weary sigh.

Marcus frowned at her. "Why're you here?"

She shrugged. "I wanted to see you. Hasn't been much chance for us to get together lately. I wanted to see how you're doing."

Marcus didn't say anything. He wasn't sure _what_ to say.

Blair shuffled her feet. "Look, if it's a bad time, I can-"

"No, it's...it's okay." He stepped aside. "You wanna come in?"

"Yeah. Thanks." She squeezed past him and he let the hanging blanket fall back into place. Blair didn't make any remarks on the cramped conditions. Her own bunk wasn't any better. At least this place had some privacy, isolated as it was. Marcus motioned for her to sit on the cot while he took a seat on the footlocker. A _long_ couple of minutes passed before Blair finally broke the awkward silence, "So, you decided to stick around."

Marcus shrugged, something he'd been doing a lot around her lately, he mused. "Like you said, where would I go?"

"You getting along with the other grease monkeys?" she grinned.

He smiled wanly. "They leave me alone, I leave them alone. We get along fine." He stared down at the cold floor between his bare feet. He felt the cold through his soles, but the sensation was distant, like it really didn't affect him. He guessed it wouldn't, considering.

"Marcus?"

He looked up, saw the worry in Blair's eyes and felt his throat constrict.

"Are you alright?" she asked, little more than a whisper.

He tried to shrug it off, tried to muster up a flippant "yeah, sure, I'm fine." But he just didn't have the energy for bullshit. He shook his head and rasped out, "No."

Blair scooted closer, took his hands in hers. "What's wrong?"

His eyes looked away from hers. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing here."

"What d'you mean?"

"I wasn't supposed to come back. I was dead on the floor, but Connor couldn't let me be. He zapped me back to life and now I...I dunno what I'm supposed to do. What am I supposed to _do?_" he asked, desperation making his voice rough, "I'm not...I don't know why..." He jerked his hands away, waved them like he was trying to snatch the right words out of the air. He was never any good at this, expressing himself. It always left him frustrated and angry and then he'd yell and hurt the ones who just wanted to help him. It had always been that way for him. Apparently that was something Skynet never bothered to fix when it cobbled him back together.

He snarled in frustration and stood up, wishing there was room to pace. Blair gazed up at him in concern and waited patiently.

"Why the hell didn't Connor just leave me there?" Marcus finally blurted out, "He could've gotten away without ever getting run through by that Terminator, but he stayed and brought me back. Why the fuck would he do that?"

Blair got to his feet and calmly faced him. "'Cause he realized what I already knew when I helped you escape. That you're a good man and you didn't deserve to die."

Marcus let out a hollow chuckle. "I'm not a good man. I'm not a man at all, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't believe that."

"Then you're a fucking idiot," he snapped.

The corners of her eyes tightened. A tiny flinch, but Marcus saw it and felt his self-loathing tighten its hold on him. He sat back down on the footlocker. His shoulders hunched in sudden weariness and he stared down between his knees at the worn cement floor. "Y'know how I died the first time, Blair?"

She shook her head, even though he wasn't looking at her to see it, murmured, "No."

"Lethal injection." Two words, leaden with finality. Marcus turned his head just enough to look at her from the corner of his eye. Some masochistic part of him wanted to see Blair's reaction when he told her. "I was a thief, a carjack, but that ain't why the cops came for me. It was a goddamn barfight," he snorted in derision, "I'd cashed in on one of the biggest scores of my life and I was out on a bender, celebrating. The bartender knew my brother. When I started gettin' rowdy, she called him to come get me. Andy, my brother, he was always bailing my ass outta trouble. Kept trying to save me..." He trailed off for a moment, swallowed. Blair waited in silence, her gaze steady.

Marcus continued, "Andy showed up about the same time as the two cops. I was so outta my mind. I _knew_ I should've just gone quietly, but I was itching for a fight. Any fight."

He fell silent. Blair waited several minutes before she gently prompted, "What happened?"

Marcus's shoulders twitched in yet another eloquent shrug. "Cops died. Andy died." He looked down at his feet. "My fault."

Blair slowly reached out a sympathetic hand and touched his arm. "I'm sorry."

Marcus shook her off and abruptly stood. "Visiting hours are done," he said curtly, holding aside the blanket over his door, "Go."

"Marcus," Blair got to her feet.

"Don't," he interrupted, face stony, "I don't want your understanding. I don't want your goddamn sympathy. Just leave."

"I just...I wanna tell-"

_"Go!"_

She didn't jump, but she did tense up. Schooling her features, Blair exited the bunk and Marcus let the blanket drop behind her, cutting him off from her view. Blair heaved a sigh of deep frustration and ran her fingers through her long hair, mussing it further. She headed for the motor pool's exit, telling herself this was only a temporary retreat. She wasn't going to let him push her away. Marcus needed to learn he wasn't the only one carrying around demons from his past. She would tell him, whether he wanted to listen or not.

But not tonight. Tonight her bunk was calling to her. She would confront him tomorrow, fully rested and alert. This wasn't over.


	2. Remorse

**A/N:** This one's kinda short, but hopefully it satisfies for the time being. The next one will be much longer, I promise.

**Disclaimer: Can't say that I own _Terminator Salvation_. Well, I _could_, but I don't wanna get sued.**

**re·morse [ri máwrs]**

_n _

1. guilt:_ a strong feeling of guilt and regret _

2. pity:_ compassion or pity (archaic)_

_Resistance Base, the next day..._

As usual, Marcus woke well before dawn. He ate a light breakfast of jerky and potato bread he'd stowed away in his footlocker, then spent a couple of hours doing push-ups, crunches, chin-ups, and jogging around the perimeter of the vast underground garage - not that his hydraulically powered "muscles" really needed the exercise. He did it mostly out of habit and to kill time, a routine he started back in prison. He didn't need to worry about going soft, but he _did_ still sweat like any regular human being (the better to blend in, no doubt). A quick trip to the showers took care of that. By the time he returned, clean and dressed in his mechanic's coveralls, the rest of his fellow wrench jockeys had arrived.

Angelo, the head mechanic, handed out assignments. Several of them were two-man jobs. Marcus was surprised to get one of those, but was less so when he found out he was partnering with Milo. Milo was a jovial forty-something guy of uncertain ethnicity whose deceptively rangy physique concealed an impressive wiry strength. He was one of the few people in the whole compound who made an effort to be friendly towards Marcus.

"Hey there, Tin Man," Milo greeted cheerily, "Looks like it's me 'n' you today."

"Oh, joy," Marcus drawled, "I can hardly wait."

"That's the spirit! Angelo says we're gonna work on Lucille." Milo had a name for every vehicle in the motor pool, all of them female. He'd spend hours talking to them while he worked on them, muttering endearments or cajoling. If Marcus hadn't met Milo's wife, he'd swear the poor guy was never getting laid.

Marcus followed the slight man over to what looked like a bullet-riddled pile of scrap that had apparently been towed in while he was in the showers. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," Milo chuckled, "Patrol had a run-in with some T-600s. They all got outta there alive, if you can fuckin' believe it."

"Too bad Lucille can't say the same."

"Nah!" Milo scoffed, "She's a tough ol' broad. A little rebuilding, a little welding, and she'll be good as new. Won't ya, baby?" He patted the vehicle affectionately. It gave an ominous creak, like it was about to collapse in on itself.

Marcus waved a hand at it. "It's Swiss cheese, man!"

"Then she'll be easier for you to lift," Milo retorted. He jerked a thumb towards the car. "Have at it."

The motor pool had a limited number of working jacks, and they always went quickly. Not a problem when one partnered with a cyborg. Marcus planted his feet and gripped the underside of the frame, then slowly unbent his knees. Metal groaned in protest as the wrecked car's back end lifted. Milo scooted in with cinder blocks, which he arranged underneath the car. "'Kay, set her down."

Marcus eased the vehicle down until the blocks took the weight. Once he was sure it would hold, he let go of the undercarriage. They repeated the process at the front end until the car was successfully raised off the floor. There was a lot of work to do. The engine had to be repaired, parts patched up or replaced altogether. The shreds of rubber that were once tires were removed, as were the ruined seats. Steel plates had to be welded over the numerous bullet holes. The windshield needed to be replaced, if they could scrounge one up. If it were up to Marcus, Lucille would have been nothing but a source of spare parts, if that. But Milo had a lot of sentiment for the busted old car, and he had seniority. Besides, it wasn't like they had many options when it came to working vehicles.

The hours flew by to the sounds of clanks and bangs, the screams of power tools, curses and camaraderie, and under all that the barely-noticeable rock music emanating from the scavenged CD player. Marcus fell into the comforting rhythm of his work, hardly noticing the accumulated bruises and scrapes on his hands, or the engine grease and sweat that coated his skin. Before he knew it Angelo was calling a halt for lunch.

"Ya comin' to check out today's mystery meal?" Milo asked, as usual. And as usual, Marcus demurred. He wasn't interested in subjecting himself to the stares of the crowded mess hall. He wasn't hungry, anyway. Breakfast was about all his organic components really needed since he wasn't damaged.

"I'll just keep working," he said.

Milo shrugged and threw a casual wave as he followed the others out. Soon Marcus was the only soul left in the motor pool. Or so he thought.

"Hey."

He looked up to see Blair standing in the doorway. She was dressed in frayed jeans and a tattered sweater, her long hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She reached over to hit the stop button on the CD player, then approached Marcus at a casual stroll, thumbs hooked in the hip pockets of her jeans, stopping a few feet away from where he hunched over the vehicle's engine. Marcus straightened. "You're not flying today?"

She shook her head. A sad fact of the Resistance: there were more pilots than there were functional planes or helicopters. Fliers worked in rotating shifts. It was either that or ground most of them permanently, and no pilot worth her salt would willingly give up her wings altogether.

"Nope. I'm helping out at the fields today." The "fields" referred to the garden tubs where the Resistance raised food crops, mostly potatoes. Marcus noticed the dirt embedded under her fingernails.

He set aside the socket wrench he'd been using and picked up a grease rag to wipe the grime off his hands, or at least spread it around. "What's up?"

"I wanted to finish our conversation from last night."

Marcus's expression turned weary. "I'm working right now."

"It's lunch. You can spare a few minutes."

"Doesn't mean I _want_ to."

Her lips thinned. "Fine, keep working."

Marcus picked up the wrench and leaned under the hood, his gaze studiously focused on the engine in front of him.

"And I'll do all the talking," Blair added.

Marcus sighed.

"You're not the only one who did shit before the machines. You're not the only one with regrets-"

"For Christ's sake," he groaned, "You were, what, fifteen? Sixteen back then? Newsflash, teens do stupid shit all the time. It's practically an obligation."

"I'm not talking about clubbing with a fake ID or stealing somebody's car to go joyriding," Blair argued.

Marcus looked at her, a disdainful smirk on his face. "So what'd you do that was so goddamn awful?"

Blair gazed at him levelly. "I killed a kid."

Stunned silence, then, "What?"

Blair leaned her back against a neighboring vehicle, eyes fixed on the worn toes of her boots. "Me and my friends, we were pretty wild, y'know. Smoking weed in the girl's bathroom, shoplifting, that kinda thing. Mostly we just hung out, smoked cigarettes and talked a lotta bullshit about the rich guys we were gonna marry." She shrugged. "Anyway, one of my friends had this kid brother, Craig. He had Down's Syndrome. He was always trying to tag along. Most of my friends ignored him or thought he was funny. I hated him. Everything about him disgusted me. His stumpy body, his weird face, the way he talked. He made my skin crawl. But no matter how many times I yelled at him, he always came back. Thinking back on it, I guess he might've had a crush on one of us."

"Maybe you," Marcus said.

Blair swallowed. "Maybe."

Seconds passed without a word. Marcus tentatively broke the silence. "What happened, Blair?"

"We were going to see a movie," Blair continued, still staring down at her shoes, "And Craig, like always, invited himself along. He kept yelling out the name of this kids movie he wanted to see over and over, he just wouldn't shut up. We were shouting at him to be quiet, but he wouldn't. I snapped. I started screaming at him and shoving him, calling him retard and a fucking pain in the ass. 'I hate you, you goddamned freak!' And my friends were laughing and Craig was starting to cry, 'Sorry, Blair. I'm sorry,' while the snot was running out of his nose." The words starting coming out faster and Blair fidgeted in agitation. "Everybody said it was an accident, but I saw the truck coming down the street, I saw it and...I _pushed_..."

She finally lifted her head and looked at Marcus. He saw in her eyes all the guilt and sorrow she'd borne for half her life. "I don't want _your_ understanding, or _your_ pity," she said, throwing his words back at him in a steady voice, even as a couple of tears escaped her eyes and left twin trails down her cheeks, "But you need to know that you don't have the monopoly on regret. I feel it every time I remember the confused look on Craig's face just before that truck hit him. I was never held accountable for it. I never even spent a day in juvie because fucking Judgment Day happened. But even if I did, I know it wouldn't be enough. Nothing would ever be enough."

She closed the distance between them, her expression hard. "But that sure as hell doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying. Every day, everything I do, if it's the right thing, I do it. No matter how hard it is, I always do what I know is right. I don't give up. I don't push people who care about me away. And that makes living with what I did a little bit easier."

Marcus pursed his lips and shook his head. His eyes were sad and sympathetic. "Blair...I'm not you. Taking the righteous path or whatever you wanna call it, that's your way of doing penance." He indicated their surroundings. "This is my way."

"Isolating yourself," Blair said in an accusatory tone, "Giving up."

"No," he answered calmly, "If I was giving up I wouldn't have stayed. Being here, seeing you every day, but not...not letting myself get close to you. It hurts me more than I know how to say." He let out a humorless laugh and shrugged. "But that's my punishment."

"That's great," she said dully, "Except you're not the only one hurting from your punishment." With that, she turned and stormed out of the motor pool, leaving Marcus alone. It wasn't until she rounded a corner and found a small, dark space to squeeze into that she finally let the sobs escape. Talking about Craig had been harder than she expected, and she sure as hell didn't think it'd be easy. And even so, Marcus still maintained an invisible wall between them. Blair knew staying and talking about it any more wouldn't do much good, especially since she wasn't sure she could've held it together much longer. She would just have to wait a while and hope it all sank in. That it made a difference.


	3. Outsider

**A/N:** Well, I promised you a longer chappie. Here it is! :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Terminator Salvation_ or the delightfully eye-appealing character of Marcus Wright.**

**out·sid·er [owt sīdər]**

(_plural_ out·sid·ers)

_n_

1. somebody who does not belong: _somebody who is not part of a particular group or organization_

2. competitor unlikely to win: _a competitor or candidate who is considered unlikely to win_

_Resistance Base, motor pool, later that day..._

If Milo noticed that Marcus was more reticent than before the lunch break, he kept the observation to himself. The two of them continued trying to breathe new life into the battle-damaged Lucille. Marcus thought the car was so full of replacement parts they might as well have built a new vehicle from scratch. Nevertheless, when evening rolled around, the engine was starting to look like a recognizable piece of machinery rather than a mass of shredded and dented metal.

"Damn, we're good," Milo declared. He groaned and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders. "Gah! I'm feelin' my age. You're lucky, y'know. Never hafta worry about arthritis with those metal bones."

"Nah, just rust," Marcus muttered.

Milo chuckled. He started to follow the other mechanics to the exit, but abruptly spun around after a couple of steps. "Oh, almost forgot! One of the goats got its leg broke yesterday 'n' had to be slaughtered. Tabs managed to wangle some of the meat." "Tabs" was Tabitha, Milo's wife. She was one of the people who tended the compound's livestock, which consisted mainly of rabbits (for meat), a few chickens (for the eggs), and a handful of goats (for milk). Aside from the rabbits, the rest of the animals were far more useful alive and were therefore only killed as a last resort.

Milo continued, "She's gonna whip up a stew and we were wondering if ya wanted to come by and have some."

Marcus blinked in surprise. "You're inviting me to dinner?"

The smaller man shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh, thought I might work on Lucille a while longer..."

"C'mon, man!" Milo wheedled, "You gotta get out of this place. It's like livin' in a damn dungeon."

The cyborg heaved a sigh. "Look, I appreciate the gesture and all, but-"

"But you'd rather stay down here and mope about whatever the heck you 'n' Blair squabbled about."

"How the hell do you know about that?" Marcus blurted.

Milo laughed. "'Cause I passed Blair on my way back from lunch, genius. And she was lookin' about as down as you usually are. Now I'm not asking what went on between you two, 'cause it's none of my business, but I gotta tell ya, this suffering in silence crap you've been doing is gettin' pretty old. So haul your ass outta this rut you've been digging yourself into 'n' come eat with us."

Marcus stared at him for a long moment. "Why d'you care?" There was no hostility in the question, only confusion.

"Well, for one thing," Milo grinned, "I get to brag to my kids that I work with a freakin' cyborg. That earned me some major cool points right there. But they've been bugging me to bring you over ever since."

Marcus chuckled in spite of himself. God help him, but he liked the guy. But the thought of trying to socialize with anyone brought a roiling sensation to his non-existent gut that he suddenly realized was fear. When the hell had he gotten so timid?

"Not sure how good I'll be at conversation," he admitted, and knew at that moment that he'd accepted the invitation.

Milo waved it off. "Don't worry. My family talks so much I don't think they'll even notice. Buncha chatterboxes. I can't imagine where they got it." He winked. Marcus snorted.

* * *

_Resistance Base, Milo's quarters, evening..._

After the nukes fell, many of the survivors who were exposed to the resulting fallout (and who didn't die within the next few months of cancer) were left sterile, or worse, produced infants that were horribly disfigured by mutation. Those who managed to have one or two healthy children were considered lucky.

Milo and Tabitha had seven children, four girls and three boys, with number eight on the way, to judge by the bump Tabs sported. Because of this exceptionally bountiful family, they were given more living space than anyone else in the entire base, including the revered John Connor. Milo wasn't kidding about them being chatty, either. The moment he entered the family's quarters, the first thing Marcus noticed was the murmur of high-pitched voices that flooded the room. As soon as they saw Milo, those voices rose in squeals of "Daddy!" and a stampede of youngsters rushed to surround him. Milo beamed and crouched down to sweep them in a group hug. "How're my little ladies and gents, huh? You all have fun at school today?"

The children all started chattering at once. It all sounded like gibberish to Marcus, but Milo nodded and added the occasional uh-huh like he understood every word. Finally, he straightened and patted Marcus on the shoulder. "Kids, I finally dragged Marcus over so you could meet him. Say hello so's I can show him how polite you all are."

"Hello, Marcus," the children chorused.

"Hi," Marcus responded, raising his hand in an awkward little wave.

One of the boys, who looked to be about five, tilted his head in curiosity and asked, "Are you a robot?" He wasn't able to speak his Rs very well, so the last word came out sounding like _wobot_.

"He don't look like a robot," an older girl stated almost accusingly.

Tabitha stepped out of the tiny kitchenette and said to the kids, "Your dad and I explained already. Marcus is a cyborg. That means only parts of him are machine, and the rest is human." She flashed a welcoming smile at said cyborg. She was a handsome woman with unruly dirty-blonde hair, gray eyes, and a small dimple on her chin. "It's good to see you again, Marcus."

"Thanks for having me," he said, a little embarrassed by all the attention. But at least they weren't all looking at him like they wanted to take a pipe wrench to his skull.

Tabs indicated the dining table taking up much of the room. "Go ahead and take a seat. Dinner 'll be out in a few minutes."

Without warning, little hands grabbed hold of his arms and started dragging him towards the table. "Sit by me!" "No, me!" "I wanna sit wif him!"

Marcus threw a helpless look towards Milo, who merely smirk and sauntered over to his chair at the dining table. Eventually, the seating arrangements were worked out with Marcus wedged between the little boy who first spoke to him and the oldest kid, a girl who looked to be about twelve and who blushed every time Marcus caught her ogling him. Tabitha strode in carrying a large steaming pot. The smell emanating from it made everyone but Marcus lick their lips. She set the pot down on the table, then she and Milo started filling bowls and passing them along either side until everyone had a share in front of them. Marcus gazed down into the plastic bowl. The stew consisted mostly of potato, with some chopped carrots and onion, and a few thin shreds of meat. He also saw flecks of what appeared to be some kind of spice, probably from the herbs raised in the "fields".

As soon as Tabitha sat down next to her husband, everyone grabbed their spoons and dug in. Marcus tentatively brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth. It was more flavorful than he expected. Salt was hard to come by and as strictly rationed as drinkable water, if not more so. Tabs seemed to have made up for that with liberal use of whatever herbs she had on hand. As he watched the family eat with gusto, he felt a pang of guilt. While none of them were starving, times were still pretty lean, and he really didn't need the full bowl in front of him.

"Doncha like it?" one of the kids asked.

Marcus saw the concern in Tabitha's expression and realized that saying he wasn't hungry might come across as ungrateful. He forced aside his uneasiness and ate with a little more enthusiasm. "It's very good," he assured them.

There was a constant flow of conversation throughout the meal. The children telling their parents about their day, Milo and Tabitha discussing things that needed to be done, minor conflicts between siblings over who got more meat with their stew. Every once in a while someone would try to draw Marcus in, but for the most part he was only an observer. He didn't think such happy, stable families were still possible. The kids were clean, healthy, well-adjusted, loved by their parents who were equally devoted to each other. Marcus was glad Milo and Tabs weren't among those sent out on combat missions. If anything happened to either of them the family would be shattered.

Even though he was enjoying this happy scene, it also emphasized Marcus's loneliness. He'd been close to his brother while growing up, but he never had anything this good. And he never would.

A light touch on his arm dragged Marcus away from his gloomy thoughts. He looked down to see that the five-year-old had stuck something onto his wrist. He moved his arm, but the object stayed in place. Marcus picked it up. It was a flattened piece of plastic shaped like a cartoon dog. It's maniacally cheerful features were cracked and faded with age. Marcus turned it over and saw a black disk on the back. A refrigerator magnet.

Marcus looked down at the grinning boy, cocked an eyebrow, then stuck the magnet onto his forehead. _Probably scramble my circuits,_ he thought wryly, but apparently the old fridge magnet wasn't strong enough to cause any harm. Several of the kids giggled at the sight. Even Tabitha and Milo had a chuckle over it. The incident inspired the kids to spend the rest of the evening putting magnets all over the cyborg.

It was weird; such a blatant reminder of his difference should have made Marcus uncomfortable, yet it didn't. He supposed it was because the youngsters weren't scared of him, not to mention the fact that their parents trusted him enough to let him play with their kids.

"Okay, bed time!" Milo declared. This announcement was met with a chorus of high-pitched groans. "C'mon, now. Say goodnight to Marcus."

"Goodnight, Marcus," the children said obediently.

"G'night, mista wobot," the little boy chimed in.

Marcus smiled and said goodnight back as the oldest kids herded their younger siblings towards their bedrooms.

"Thanks for having me over," he said as the couple showed him to the door.

"It was nice having you," Tabitha replied, then surprised him with a brief hug.

Milo told him, "I gotta warn you, I might ask you over again sometime."

Marcus smiled. "I might take you up on it."

The walk back to the motor pool seemed longer than the journey to Milo's quarters. Those he passed in the halls either ignored him or threw wary glances at him, and most of them made sure to keep as much distance between them and him as the corridor allowed. After the warm acceptance of Milo and Tabitha's home, this rejection hurt more than it normally would.

A couple of minutes later he saw Blair up ahead. It looked like she was on her way to her bunk after leaving the mess hall. She was wearing her leather jacket and flight suit.

"Hey," Marcus called out.

Blair turned and he was relieved to see a faint smile touch her lips. "Hey," she responded, "Where'd you come from?"

"Milo invited me over to his place for dinner."

Her eyebrows went up. "And you took him up on it? Good for you."

"Yeah, I was a hit with his kids." He told her about the fridge magnets. Blair laughed, then her laugh morphed into a yawn.

"Sorry. I'm worn out."

"I won't keep you, then," Marcus said. He continued walking, calling over his shoulder, "Night, Blair."

"G'night." Blair stared after him until he came to a branch in the corridor and disappeared around the corner. She didn't notice when he returned to watch her retreating back as she made her way to the barracks.

* * *

_Resistance Base, one week later..._

There were no more factories, except those run by Skynet. Nothing intended for humans was manufactured. There were no supply drops. If anything was needed - clothes, medicine, replacement parts for vehicles - people had to go out and find them in the ruins of dead towns and cities, risking detection by the machines in the process. There were those who made a living at this. Small bands of well-armed men and women who braved the dangers of the outside world to scrounge up anything useful for barter. One such band that regularly did business with Connor's Resistance cell consisted of four men. Everything about them, from appearance to personality, could be summed up in just one word: coarse. Marcus disliked them on sight. He knew their type. Hell, he _was_ one of their type, back when he was human. Brutish assholes, strutting around like they owned the world and everything in it because they had no qualms about knocking down anyone who got in their way. How they got hold of some of their merchandise was open to question, but there was no denying these things were desperately needed.

This time it appeared they'd raided an abandoned dental office. There were cases of toothpaste, floss, toothbrushes, mouthwash, dental tools, and local anesthetic. In return for these necessities they accepted food, booze - both salvaged or homemade - boots, socks, ammo, and anything else they deemed useful or desirable.

Marcus didn't need any of the things they offered. His teeth, like pretty much everything about him, were artificial and impervious to decay. He was still present to watch the trading, however. Over the last week he'd been leaving the seclusion of the motor pool, sometimes without even having to be goaded by Milo or Blair. As a result, people were getting used to him. There were fewer stares, fewer instances of people subtly cringing away from him. They didn't accept him as one of them, but least they weren't as afraid of him as they used to be.

Marcus saw Blair haggling with one of the traders, a musclebound guy with a thick beard and a sweaty bandanna on his head. The man's grin reeked of lewdness as he leaned close to mutter something in Blair's ear. Disgust flickered across her face before she schooled her expression into a flirtatious smile. She said something that made the guy's grin even wider and he handed over several items in return for a bottle of whiskey Blair gave in return. Her smile dropped the instant her back was turned to him and she pushed through the crowd of people still waiting to trade.

"What was that about?" Marcus asked.

Blair grimaced. "Let's just say his suggestion left a bad taste in my mouth. I plan on brushing my teeth extra long tonight."

Marcus chuckled. After their heated conversation back in the garage, Blair's behavior reverted back to the status quo, almost like it never happened. She continued to try and draw Marcus out of his shell, never backing down or giving up. Sometimes her persistence left him furious. He threatened more than once to leave, only to have Blair counter with a promise that she'd come after him. He called her a stalker. She called him a self-flagellating idiot.

And the weirdest thing was, no matter how angry they got, they both got some kind of perverse enjoyment out of these arguments.

Marcus noticed that in addition to the toothpaste and a new brush Blair had several boxes of dental floss. "You planning on doing some crafts with the kiddies?" he asked, vaguely remembering a time in his childhood when he strung macaroni on a length of floss to make a necklace for his mom.

Blair shook her head. "When I was a kid my dentist told me flossing was even more important than brushing. He said if he had to choose between one or the other, he'd pick flossing."

"Hunh," Marcus grunted. Funny the kinds of things that stuck in people's minds.

Tabitha wandered over toting a cardboard box full of dental supplies. "I had to give 'em most of my cooking herbs, the bastards," she groused. No one said keeping seven kids' mouths cavity-free would be cheap.

"You need help carrying that?" Marcus asked.

"No thanks, I got it." Tabs blew a stray curl out of her eyes. "You seen Milo?"

"Yeah, I think he's still tinkering with Lucille." They'd finished all the major repairs on the car a couple of days ago. It could run, but it was a rough ride.

Tabitha rolled her eyes. "Him and his cars. The _other_ women in his life." She shifted her hold on the box and headed for the exit. "Well, better get this stuff home. See ya later, Marcus, Blair."

"Later."

Raised voices drew their attention back to the trading. Kate Connor was negotiating for the anesthetics and dentistry tools. From the look of things, it wasn't going well.

"We can't spare any more fuel," she stated, "We need what we have so we can send out patrols in case the machines get close to our base."

The guy she was talking to, a stocky black man with a long diagonal scar bisecting his face, obviously didn't care. "Me an' my boys put our asses on the line gettin' this shit. We're not about to just give it away."

John spoke up. His recovery from his wounds had progressed a great deal over the last three weeks, but he was still thin and tired easily. Nevertheless, his voice possessed its full commanding strength. "I'm sure there's plenty of other things we can offer that you'd be willing to take instead."

The scavenger smirked and nodded towards a young girl. "How 'bout some quality time with that pretty thing an' some of her friends."

His men laughed obscenely. John's expression hardened. "You know better than that, Ross. We don't trade in human beings."

Ross snorted. He eyed John with a mixture of speculation and disdain. "Tell ya what. Things've been dull as hell lately. Why don't we make this interesting? How'd you feel about betting for the supplies?"

"What'd you have in mind?" John asked.

Ross smirked. "We'll arm wrestle for 'em. We win, you pay the fuel. You win, you get the drugs an' the tools, no charge."

"You're not a hundred percent yet," Kate cautioned her husband.

"It don't hafta be him," Ross declared, "Pick any one of your boys." He encompassed the crowded room and the rest of the base beyond with a sweep of his arms. "Hell, pick the toughest sonuvabitch you got. I guarantee nobody can beat Ox." At the mention of his very appropriate nickname, one of Ross's guys stepped forward. A giant of a man with muscles that bulged not from overuse of steroids, but from a combination of genetics and years of strenuous labor. He was so big people expected to feel tremors when he walked.

John pursed his lips. The truth was, they really needed those supplies, especially the dental tools. A month ago they almost lost a man to a tooth abscess. People tended to downplay these things, but mouth infections were a very real danger. They had a dentist among them, but without proper equipment at his disposal there was very little he could do.

Connor scanned the surrounding faces in hopes of finding someone who might stand a chance against Ross's thug. That was when he glimpsed Marcus just beyond the edge of the crowd. "Wright!" He beckoned to him.

Marcus looked surprised to be singled out. Dozens of faces turned towards him, increasing his discomfort.

Blair nudged him. "Go on."

"Right," he sighed, "Guess I gotta earn my keep."

There were murmurs and a few smirks among the Resistance members at their leader's choice. The crowd parted to let Marcus through. Ox took one look at him and threw his head back in a bellowing laugh. "That runt?" he sneered, "_That's_ who you're pittin' against me?"

"'Less you're afraid I'll beat you," Marcus challenged. This was met with _ohhh_s and chuckles amongst the bystanders.

Ross shook his head in mock disappointment. "I was hopin' for a little excitement," he sighed, "But if that's the way ya want it..."

John's head bobbed in a curt nod.

A large crate was set out to serve as a table, with two smaller crates on either side for seats. Ox settled his considerable weight down on the seat he chose and the crate groaned in protest. In his smug certainty, he didn't notice that Marcus's did the same thing when he sat down. Marcus met his opponent's derisive gaze with cool indifference. Beating this lummox wasn't going to be a problem. The trick was making it look like he had to struggle for it. Ross and his men were bound to get suspicious, but if it looked like he defeated Ox too easily, they'd _know_ something about him wasn't right.

The two men rested their right elbows on top of the larger crate and clasped hands. Ox tightened his grip with crushing intensity and Marcus winced. His reaction wasn't totally fake. His flesh seemed to have the same pain receptors as any human's.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, and heard Blair's voice in his ear, "Kick his ass."

Marcus smirked, but didn't take his eyes away from his opponent. He felt a sense of loss when Blair took her hand away.

"On the count of three," John said, "One...two...three..._go!_"

Ox shoved against Marcus's arm and seemed mildly surprised when it didn't go down right away. Shouts of excitement and encouragement surrounded the competitors. Side bets occurred. Among the Resistance members it wasn't so much over who would win as how long Marcus would draw it out. Marcus contorted his face as if he were straining and let his arm gradually get pushed lower and lower. Ross and his men grinned in certain triumph. The back of Marcus's hand was just an inch away from the crate's surface when he decided enough was enough and started putting a little effort into it. The smug look on Ox's face slowly faded as he found himself pushing against what felt like a steel bar. It wasn't long before his huge muscles strained against this unexpected strength, but his arm continued to slowly bow under. Marcus continued to pretend that this effort cost him. He even let Ox gain a couple of inches once or twice to make it look like he was tiring. But in the end, Ox was the one who lost (which is what happens when you pit a human against a cyborg).

The crowd roared in victory. Ross and his men stared, incredulous. Ox rubbed his aching wrist.

"What the fuck was that?" Ross snarled once the hubbub died down.

"You said pick the toughest sonuvabitch I had," John retorted, "I did. He won. Pay up."

Ross glared in suspicion. "Somethin' don't smell right. The hell are you trying to pull, Connor?"

"Your man lost in a fair fight," he said, though it wasn't _strictly_ true, "Are you going to honor your part of the bet or not?"

The scavenger looked like he'd bitten into something rancid. Finally he turned to one of his men and snapped, "Give him the damn supplies." He turned back to John. "My gut's telling me that boy of yours ain't normal. If I find out you played me..." he let the rest of the sentence hang unfinished.

John met the other man's gaze without flinching. Once Ross and his men stormed off in a huff, he turned to Marcus and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

Marcus nodded in return. As the crowd dispersed, several people slapped his back and shouted congratulations. Marcus smiled and thanked them, but he didn't feel any kind of warm glow from the attention. He knew they weren't motivated by acceptance of him. He was still just a machine to them.

"Congratulations."

The light touch on his arm affected him more than the most heavy-handed thump on the back. He looked at Blair and this time his smile was genuine. "Thanks, but it's not like I strained myself or anything."

Blair shrugged. "The point is, you did it for us. You're part of this group, even if the others can't see that yet."

"I'm not sure _I _see that yet."

Blair smiled in that slow way that always drew his attention to her lips. "You will."

Marcus wished he shared her confidence.


	4. Vulnerable

**A/N:** The moment between Blair and Marcus at the racetrack mentioned in this chapter refers to a scene from the director's cut of _Terminator Salvation_. The thing about it that struck me most was everything Sam Worthington managed to convey with just his face. He can be pretty expressive when he puts his mind to it. ;-)

Also, this chapter is kind of a songfic type. I rewatched the movie and the part where that Alice In Chains song came up got me thinking about Jerry Cantrell and pretty soon the song depicted here wouldn't get out of my head. I think it fits with the story.

**Disclaimer: _Terminator Salvation_ and the characters therein aren't mine.**

**vul·ner·a·ble [vúlnərəb'l]**

_adj_

1. without adequate protection: _open to emotional or physical danger or harm_

2. military open to attack: _exposed to an attack or possible damage_

_Resistance Base, singles barracks, 12 hrs later..._

Blair lay on the thin mattress of her cot, unable to sleep, surrounded by darkness and privacy curtains. She listened to the varied nocturnal sounds coming from the other bunks. Snores ranging from quiet buzzes to obnoxious pig-like snorts, the creak of tired springs as somebody shifted position, the muted blat of a distant fart. Normally Blair didn't notice these things. They were sounds she'd lived with for years, and she was usually too exhausted to stay awake once her head hit the pillow anyway. But lately sleep wasn't coming so easy to her. Her mind was too active, filled with thoughts of Marcus.

From the second she met him Blair felt a connection form between them with a suddenness and intensity she'd never experienced with anyone else, man or woman. A connection that didn't fade even after she found out he was mostly metal under all that appealing flesh. Had the world been a different place, this might have frightened her. But in this war-torn life she never questioned such things. All the big milestones people once took their time over were now rushed into headlong, because you never knew when the machines might come and burn it all to the ground. It was a philosophy Blair embraced fully. She went on instinct, didn't dawdle or second-guess. If she wanted something, she took it (unless someone else already claimed it - she wasn't a thief, after all). If she found someone attractive, and the feeling was mutual, she didn't waste time stringing him along with useless flirting (well, maybe a _little_ flirting). And she wasn't the only woman who chose expediency over romance. It was a sad fact that there just wasn't time for dating anymore.

So why this continued stasis between her and Marcus? A lot of it was him keeping his distance, sure, but there was something holding her back as well, or else she would be trying harder. She was never the type to wait passively for something to change, she always pushed things along. So what was stopping her now? What was she afraid of?

Disapproval from her fellow humans for shacking up with a cyborg? _Definitely not,_ she scoffed. The way she saw it, if people didn't like something she did they could keep it to their damn selves. It was her business, not theirs, and it wasn't like she was harming anyone.

Rejection? That was a bit more complicated. Blair knew Marcus wanted her as much as she wanted him. She felt it every time he met her eyes. But every time he had the chance to act on it, he let the moment slide. And for some reason, that hurt her more than flat-out refusal.

Blair remembered the first time that happened, not long after they met. They'd been traveling back towards base when it started to rain. They stopped at the ruins of an old race track to make camp. While Marcus searched for something they could use as fuel for a campfire, Blair had taken her first aid kit and gone over to a huge tractor tire lying on its side that acted as a rain collector. She stood in the downpour and stripped off her shirt to wash off and check for any serious cuts or wounds, and some sixth sense told her Marcus was behind her. She turned, her hands covering her breasts, and saw him searching the interior of a derelict car, his back to her. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned and locked her with his intense blue stare. Blair felt her skin grow hot under his gaze. Her lips parted slightly and she turned a little more to face him fully. For a second, she was sure he'd take her up on her silent invitation. But then something in his expression changed. The desire was still there, but now there was also sadness and a withdrawing. The unspoken words _I can't_ seemed to emanate from him. Then the moment was gone.

The loss of what could have been was a regret Blair carried with her ever since. She shouldn't have let that moment go. She should have gone to him. If it had been any other man, she would have. So why didn't she?

Because Marcus wasn't any other man. Not just in the sense of what was underneath his skin, but who he was to her. All the other relationships Blair had before were little more than flings. They didn't _mean_ anything to her. They couldn't hurt her. But Marcus could. He already did by keeping her at arm's length.

So that was it. That was why she held back. She was afraid of getting hurt. Simple, really. Which begged the question, when had she ever let her fear control her?

Blair flung the old army-issue blanket aside and sat up. She snatched up the cargo pants she'd worn earlier, put them on, grabbed her boots, and stood. She pushed the privacy curtain aside and padded barefoot to the exit. Once out in the hall, she put on her boots to protect her feet against the cold cement floor and headed towards the motor pool.

* * *

_Resistance Base, motor pool, minutes later..._

One of the mechanics got hold of a "new" CD for the player earlier that day, Jerry Cantrell's solo album _Boggy Depot_. Marcus's brother once had a copy. Listening to it brought up a lot of bittersweet memories. But one track in particular affected him more than the others on the disc, the one titled "My Song." It didn't make him think of his brother, though. The lyrics evoked someone else's face altogether.

Marcus found himself unable to sleep, so he turned on the CD player. Sometimes listening to music helped, or at least made the hours pass a bit easier. He ended up playing the Cantrell CD and put "My Song" on a continuous loop. His masochistic streak at work again. He lay on his bunk with one hand tucked beneath his head, the other resting on his stomach, and listened to the melancholy words sung in Cantrell's mournful voice.

_She won't tell me lies_

_She want to see me smile, yeah_

_Every time you let it show_

_I didn't want to know_

_By the time I had lost my soul_

_You had to go..._

The clank of the motor pool's door opening caused his body to tense. Marcus got out of bed and headed for the doorway of his makeshift bunk, wondering who the hell was coming here at this hour? He readied himself for the possibility that this wasn't a friendly visit. When he pushed aside the blanket covering his entryway, though, he was startled to discover Blair making her tentative way through the maze of vehicles in the darkened garage. "Blair?"

Her head jerked in the direction of his voice. "Marcus? Where are you? I can't see a damn thing in here."

Marcus smirked at the irritation in her voice. His artificial eyes enhanced the faint ambient light, making it easy to see every detail of the place, albeit in gray-scale. "Hang on," he said and walked over to her. The only sounds in the vast garage were his footsteps and the music that continued to play in the background.

_She come, in disguise_

_I want to say goodbye, yeah_

_Every time I let it show_

_You didn't want to know_

_By the time I had lost my soul_

_You had to go_

_You had to go..._

Blair almost yelped when Marcus touched her arm. "Don't sneak up on people!"

"I didn't," he chuckled, "I was out in the open the whole time." He reached over and switched on a nearby work light. Both of them blinked at the sudden glare. "That better?" Marcus asked.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

"So. What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "Must be pretty important if it couldn't wait 'til morning."

"It is."

"Go on, then. Spit it out."

Blair opened her mouth, closed it, tried again, but couldn't seem to find the right words. Finally, she let out a growl of frustration, grabbed him on either side of his head, yanked him towards her, and crushed his lips against hers.

_Love's strong, mine gone_

_Still have the time to sing my song_

_Love's strong, mine gone_

_Still have the time to sing my song..._

Marcus was too shocked to react at first. He stood frozen as Blair swiped her tongue against his lips in an attempt to gain entrance to his mouth. He could have pulled away without any trouble. He was much stronger than her. Instead, he felt his lips part under Blair's persistent assault. Her tongue slid past his teeth and flicked against the roof of his mouth. Marcus shuddered, and the next thing they knew he had her pinned against the nearest car's hood, her legs wrapped around him and his hands tangled in her long hair. He broke away from her lips to kiss a path along her jaw line and down the side of her neck. His teeth nipped at her pulse point, then his tongue soothed the reddened flesh.

"Oh, god," Blair moaned and arched her body closer to his. "Marcus..."

Then, without warning or explanation, his attentions cooled as abruptly as they began. He straightened and disentangled himself from her. Blair stared up at him, dumbfounded, and clambered unsteadily to her feet. "What...What're you doing?"

He looked at her with the same sad longing she remembered from the racetrack. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"What the hell are you talking about?" her voice rose in exasperation.

"I mean I can't, Blair."

"You're pushing me away again," she accused, "You're still stuck on this idea that you gotta punish yourself-"

"Dammit, Blair, that ain't the only reason!" He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his crotch. Blair gaped at this shocking gesture, then frowned as what she felt through the fabric of his pants began to fully register. His cock was soft, not even a hint of an erection. Her eyes met his and he saw her understanding. Marcus nodded. "I want to," he said gently, "More than anything. But I can't. It's just one more thing Skynet took from me."

Tears welled up in Blair's eyes. She threw her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. "God, I'm so sorry."

Marcus stroked her back. "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I can't give you everything you want."

"It's okay. I mean, what we have now, that can be enough."

He wanted so much to believe that. He swallowed a painful lump in his throat. "We both know it's not."

"Don't push me away," she whispered, "Please."

He started to do just that, gently, but with undeniable force. "I need you to go, now."

"Marcus, don't..."

"If you don't leave now," he insisted, "it'll just make it harder to end it later."

"For _me_ to end it, is that what you mean?" Blair scrubbed at her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve. "It is, isn't it? You think fucking's all I want from you."

He shook his head. "No. But sooner or later, you'll find somebody who can give you what I can't, and I don't want you feeling guilty for choosing him over me."

She laughed incredulously. "You...You coward. You're not even willing to take a risk. You really think whatever's between us doesn't have a chance at lasting? Well, _I_ do," she snarled, "And I'm not leaving."

"Blair-"

"I'm." She stepped up to him. "Not." The toes of her boots touched his. "Leaving." She glared at him. "Deal with it."

Marcus took one look at her face and knew she would not be budged. He could physically make her leave, no question, but he knew she would just keep coming back. Her expression held the same stubborn determination he recalled from when she helped him escape, despite the fact that doing so meant being labeled a traitor by the Resistance. If that wasn't enough to deter her, then nothing he could say or do would change her mind. His shoulders slumped in resignation.

_She got her own way_

_Same as yesterday, yeah_

_Every time you let it show_

_I didn't want to know_

_By the time I had lost my soul_

_You had to go_

_You had to go_

"I like this song," Blair murmured. She and Marcus lay together on his narrow bed, her head cushioned against his chest, listening to the powerful beat of his heart as well as the music of a world long gone. "Who's singing it?"

"Jerry Cantrell," Marcus answered, "Probably before your time." He felt old saying that.

They lay in a strangely comfortable silence for a while. Long enough for Marcus to suspect Blair had fallen asleep. But then she surprised him by murmuring, "Kate told me something about John's parents, once."

"What's that?" he asked, though he really wasn't all that interested in The Great John Connor's family history. He just liked the sound of Blair's voice.

"She said his parents only knew each other for one night, then his father was killed. But Sarah Connor never stopped loving him. He was the love of her life, and she only knew him for a few hours..."

Marcus could see where she was going with this. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Compared to them," Blair continued, "we've known each other a lifetime."

"Blair-"

"Shh," she pressed her fingers to his lips, "It's okay. I got it outta my system. I promise, no more sappy-talk."

Marcus smiled a little. He wondered when she got so good at reading him. Seemed like it had always been this way.

A few minutes later Blair's breathing changed and he knew she was asleep. He turned his head until her hair tickled his nose and breathed in her scent.

* * *

_Resistance Base, 9 hrs later..._

Two fighter jets were sent out on patrol in the early hours of morning. Only one returned, so badly damaged its landing was more of a barely controlled crash. The scouts had run into what seemed like an entire swarm of HKs and transporters. Either Skynet managed to rebuild its California headquarters without the Resistance's knowledge, or the remaining Terminators had somehow managed to organized themselves. For whichever reason, there was no disputing their target. They were headed straight for the base.

Fortunately, the Resistance had plenty of experience mobilizing their entire operation on short notice. Equipment, livestock, food, personal belongings, families, all were packed and loaded with brisk efficiency. Anything and anyone deemed least expendable were loaded onto the helicopters so they could reach the next safe zone ahead of the others. This included - despite their vehement protests - John and Kate Connor and their newborn daughter, Sarah. Barnes remained behind to organize the rest of the evacuation.

Every working vehicle in the motor pool was put to use: vans, jeeps, flatbeds, even a couple of tractor-trailers. Every able-bodied person was put to work loading them with whatever could not be replaced later. Marcus found himself helping Milo and Tabs get as much of the livestock as possible into one of the huge semis. The goats were given priority, since they didn't breed as quickly as the chickens or rabbits and were therefore harder to replenish. Marcus was rather surprised at how cooperative the animals were. Though anxious with all this unusual activity, the goats went where they were led with relatively little fuss. Only once or twice did an excitable animal try to make a break for it, and Marcus caught them easily.

"Wright!" Angelo bellowed just as Marcus secured the cattle car's doors. The head mechanic gestured towards the newly repaired Lucille, the car's entire rear portion taken up with crates of equipment. "You're riding with me."

Marcus nodded, then turned to Milo. "Seeya at the safe zone."

The smaller man grinned and winked. "You know it, Gort."

Marcus's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Gort?"

"Yeah, y'know, the robot from _Day the Earth Stood Still_?" Milo prompted. At the cyborg's continued bafflement, he blurted in exasperation, "It's a freakin' classic, man!"

"If you say so," Marcus said in a humoring tone.

Milo rolled his eyes, then hurried over to join his waiting family in the semi. Even though the cab was designed with extra space in the back for long-distance truckers to bed down, Marcus knew conditions had to be pretty cramped for the large family. But they weren't about to separate, so the kids all squeezed in without a word of complaint. No one complained about discomfort when the alternative was facing homicidal machines.

After a final wave goodbye, Marcus jogged towards Angelo and the idling Lucille. The roar of jet engines drew his gaze skyward to a formation of A-10s zooming past. The fighter jets and several smaller gunships would remain behind to buy the evacuating convoy some more time. Many brave pilots would end up sacrificing their own lives to this end. Marcus hoped Blair would not be one of them.

As if his thoughts summoned her, Blair suddenly ran into view. She was dressed in her flying leathers and carried her helmet under one arm. A stripe of red ochre ran across her eyes, like the first time they met. Marcus felt a tightness in his throat at the sight of her.

"Hey," she said breathlessly as she skidded to a halt before him. "I can't stay long. I just wanted to see you off. And to give you these." She handed him a pair of high-powered binoculars.

"What're these for?" Marcus asked.

"So you can see me," she grinned, "I'm piloting one of the gunships. You can't miss it. It's got 'Lola' painted on the side."

"What is it with everybody giving vehicles girl names?"

"C'mon, like you never named your first car when you were a teenager?"

Marcus didn't bother to mention that his "first car" was a neighbor's Caddy he stole and drove into another neighbor's swimming pool. "Not really."

"Anyway, you oughta be able to admire my piloting skills through those for quite a while."

Marcus was struck by her thoughtfulness. She knew he would be that much more anxious about her, not knowing what was happening. This way, at least he could see how she was doing. Marcus couldn't think of anything to say except, "Thanks."

The sounds of revving engines and raised voices signaled that the convoy was about to move out.

"I gotta go," Blair said, then gave him an all-too-brief kiss before rushing back the way she came. Marcus hurried to the waiting car, Angelo drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, and jumped into the passenger side. In seconds the entire motley fleet of vehicles was on the move.


	5. Hostility

**A/N: **Two chapters in one day! I'm on a roll.

**Disclaimer: Nothing about _Terminator Salvation_ belongs to me, nor do any of the characters in this fic (except the OCs).**

**hos·til·i·ty [ho stíllətee]**

(_plural_ hos·til·i·ties)

_n_

1. intense aggression or anger: _a feeling or attitude of hatred, enmity, antagonism, or anger toward somebody_

2. strong opposition: _strong opposition to somebody or something_

3. hostile act: _an aggressive act against somebody_

_Near evacuated Resistance Base..._

Gunfire. That was the first thing Blair became aware of. Gunfire and shouts. Then other things registered on her senses. The smells of cordite and burning fuel. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Then she shifted her body and her muscles screamed in pain. She was wedged in a confined space, limbs contorted in unnatural positions. She forced her eyes to open and saw the controls of the helicopter she'd been flying, the faces of the gauges shattered or cracked, and it all came flooding back. The attack.

Fighter jets and gunships were sent out to engage the enemy force while everyone else evacuated the base. Blair flew one of the gunships. They all headed out to meet the oncoming threat head-on before the attack force reached the base to pick off any stragglers that remained. The battle was fast and brutal, like all fights against the machines. Missiles flew, laser cannons fired, bullets screamed, the air was filled with explosions and flaming wreckage that rained down from the sky. The last thing Blair remembered was a Hunter-Killer coming right at her...

The world beyond her spiderwebbed windscreen was sideways. A transporter hovered close to the ground and disgorged dozens of Terminators of various makes and models. Ground troops sent to mop-up any survivors. Several hulking T-600s were lumbering towards Blair's downed helicopter. Blair clawed at her safety harness. She managed to unbuckle herself from the pilot's seat and rolled onto the tilted floor. She half-crawled, half-scrambled her way past the bodies of those who'd manned the guns at the side doors and weren't fortunate enough to survive the crash and get out to join the fighting. One of them still had a machine gun clutched in his hands. Blair grabbed the weapon along with the spare clips she found in the dead man's pockets. After a quick look to be sure the area beyond the side hatch was clear, she jumped out of the helicopter and ran for the nearest group of Resistance fighters.

Before she could reach them they were mowed down by a tank-like T-100. Blair ducked behind a pile of debris that was once part of an HK's hull and opened fire on the huge robot. She aimed for the tiny triangular head set between its massive shoulders. She might not be able to kill it, but enough damage to the eyes might incapacitate or slow it down. The T-100 reeled as its red optics sparked and went dark. A lucky shot. The blinded machine fired wildly, some of its bullets striking its fellow Terminators until they were forced to turn on it. Blair took advantage of the chaos to dart towards the smoking remains of an HK's front section and hide behind it. This proved to be a fatal mistake.

A fire-blackened metal hand lashed out from beneath the wreckage and grabbed onto Blair's ankle. A hard yank had her sprawled on her back and she saw two baleful red eyes glowering at her under the debris like a monster under a child's bed. Before the Terminator could drag her any closer Blair aimed her weapon and emptied the rest of the clip into its face.

Something struck her face with enough force to cause the back of her head to smack the ground. Stunned, Blair lay there for several dangerous seconds while her brain struggled to unjumble itself. Her left eyelid slowly peeled back and she stared up at the darkening sky. Something big and fiery plummeted from the clouds. Blair couldn't tell if it was a plane or a Hunter-Killer. It streaked down like a deadly comet, so horribly close when it struck the ground. There was a deafening explosion and the wreckage flipped with the force of the shockwave. Her last thought as the twisted metal was about to land on her was _Marcus..._ Then there was only nothingness.

* * *

_Evacuation Convoy, moments earlier..._

Marcus rode in Lucille's front passenger seat with his body twisted around, facing towards the hastily abandoned base. He stared anxiously through the binoculars Blair had given him and watched the battle rage miles away and hundreds of feet above the ground. His gaze was fixed on one particular helicopter with the name "Lola" stenciled on its side in white letters. Blair's copter. So far, she seemed to be holding her own against the relentless machines. But Marcus knew she couldn't let her focus waver for even a fraction of a second. That's all it would take, and even the best pilots were susceptible to lapses in concentration. Stress and fatigue inevitably took their toll. Marcus hated not being able to do more than watch as Blair fought for her life and the lives of everyone trying to escape.

Suddenly, a Hunter-Killer swooped in and attacked. Marcus tensed as he watched Blair's helicopter evade the deadly machine's fire when suddenly the back rotor flew apart.

"No, no, no..." Marcus babbled, his volume increasing as he watched the copter spin out of control and spiral downward until it was lost from sight. "No, _no!_"

"What is it?" Angelo asked.

Marcus twisted in his seat to face him. "Blair went down."

The head mechanic gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, man."

"I gotta go back."

Angelo gaped. "Are you crazy? The place 'll be crawling with machines any minute!"

Marcus didn't bother to argue. He simply jumped out of the moving vehicle and started running back the way they'd come. It was the most insane thing Angelo had ever seen and for a moment all he could do was gape at the retreating figure in his rear-view mirror. Angelo finally slammed on the brakes and put the car in reverse. "Marcus!" he shouted, chasing after the retreating cyborg, "Goddamn it, stop! There's nothin' you can do for her!" The car shot ahead and swerved to block Marcus's path. Angelo clambered out and stood in front of him, both hands held up as he tried to reason with him. "We're miles out. It'd take you hours to get there on foot. And you're not even armed, for Christ's sake! One of you against who knows how many Terminators? It's suicide."

Several other vehicles had paused so their occupants could watch the unfolding spectacle.

"I'm not leaving her there," Marcus growled and started to walk around the car blocking his path. Angelo immediately tried to stop him, but it was like pushing against a moving train. His feet skidded on the dirt as he braced his hands against the stubborn cyborg's chest. He glared back at the gawkers and yelled, "Don't just stand there! Help me stop this crazy bastard!"

Most were hesitant, but a handful of sturdy people rushed over and grabbed hold of Marcus's limbs, trying to at least slow him down. None of them really understood just how incredibly strong he was until that moment. It was all they could do just to keep from being thrown off as Marcus struggled against them. "Goddamn it! Let go of me!"

_"What the hell is goin' on here?"_

The commanding bellow brought everyone to a halt and all heads turned to see Barnes storming towards them. His scowl told them he did not want to deal with this shit right now.

"The robot's blown a gasket," somebody volunteered.

Marcus shook himself free of the restraining hands and explained to Connor's right-hand man, "Blair's copter went down. I'm going back for her."

"We don't have time for rescue missions. We gotta get our people to the safe zone first."

"I'll go alone," Marcus insisted, "If I get killed it won't matter. _You_ sure as hell won't miss me."

Barnes's scowl deepened. "Sending you off on a suicide run ain't something John would appreciate. For some damn reason he cares about what happens to you."

"I'm going," Marcus stated flatly, "You can't stop me. Not unless you blow my brains out."

Barnes exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what the hell it is between you two. Blair almost gets her ass killed bustin' you out, now you're set on rushing in like some knight in shining armor to rescue somebody who's probably already dead." His eyes settled on Lucille. He gave the jury-rigged car the once over, then turned to the nearest group of men and ordered, "Unload the boxes from this thing and divvy 'em out to the other vehicles."

They were quick to obey, even though they were obviously puzzled. While they unloaded the crates, Barnes stepped up to Marcus and handed him his machine gun and extra clips. "John 'd be pissed if I let you run off without a weapon."

Marcus thanked him grudgingly.

"We ain't gonna wait for you," Barnes warned him, "If you somehow get through this shit alive, it's up to you to catch up." With that, he abruptly turned and marched back to the waiting convoy.

Marcus jumped into the driver's seat the moment the last box was removed. He looked at Angelo, who stared at him with a troubled expression. "Do me a favor. If I don't make it back, tell Milo and his family thanks."

"For what?" the mechanic asked.

Marcus's lips twisted into a wry smirk. "For treating me like a human being."

He put Lucille in gear and sped off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

* * *

_Near evacuated Resistance Base..._

Marcus wasn't sure how long it took to get there, the minutes seemed to stretch by like hours. By the time he reached the site of the main battle, most of the fighting was over. It was hard to say who'd won. Corpses both mechanical and flesh littered the ground, along with twisted hulks that were once airborne vehicles. Marcus didn't even know where to begin looking, so he just drove a zigzag pattern through the endless field of debris and carnage, hoping to catch a glimpse of Blair's crashed gunship. The weak post-nuclear sun hung low in the sky by the time he finally saw the scorched letters on the side of one of the wrecks. He was able to make out an upside-down LOL, which would've made him smirk under different circumstances.

As he drove closer a badly damaged T-700 lurched around the wrecked copter into Marcus's view. Its left arm and half its left leg were gone. It hobbled on the stump and its remaining knee. Unfortunately, its right arm with the built-in minigun were intact. The Terminator brought its weapon to bear and sent a hail of bullets towards the approaching car. Instead of swerving, Marcus punched the gas and headed straight for the Terminator. The T-700's weapon ran out of ammo an instant before the speeding car slammed into the machine and pinned it up against Lola. Steam rose from beneath the perforated hood and Lucille's engine let out one final death rattle before giving up the ghost. Marcus got out of the demolished car, shouldered the machine gun Barnes gave him, and walked over to the trapped robot. The Terminator's eyes glared balefully as he gripped the sides of its head and, with a shout, twisted hard. There was a flurry of sparks and then the eyes faded to black.

Marcus immediately checked the gunship. He saw a couple of bodies in the back, both men, but the cockpit was empty. Which meant Blair survived the crash and got out. She might still be close, or she might even be with some of the skirmishers he saw in the distance. Or she might be one of the corpses littering the area. He prayed the latter wasn't the case, even as he checked each body he came across during his search.

As it turned out, he didn't have to go that far to find her. He was passing an unidentifiable mound of twisted metal lying a few yards away from a smoldering crater when he noticed an arm poking out from underneath. The sleeve was in tatters, the exposed flesh bloodied and burned in places. But what got Marcus's attention was the glint of metal at the fingers, and he remembered that Blair often wore rings on her right hand. He ran over and grabbed hold of the wreckage, then started to lift it like it was one of the cars at the motor pool. The metal was still hot enough to sear his palms, but he didn't care. His artificial muscles and joints groaned in protest as he slowly raised the massive pile of debris. This thing was way heavier than any car he'd ever lifted.

The slender figure that was gradually revealed was almost unrecognizable. Streaked with soot and blood, her long hair a mass of filthy tangles, some of it singed away, her flying leathers ripped and scorched, the right side of her face swollen and disfigured. But Marcus knew it was her.

Marcus gritted his teeth and shifted his hold on the wreckage as he slowly turned around, then finally lowered it until he supported the weight on his shoulders. Little by little, he crouched until he was able to scoop Blair's limp form into his now freed arms. Then he straightened and, taking a deep breath, leaped forward. The wreckage fell with a resounding crash. As it came down, a jagged edge slicked through the back of Marcus's coat and left a long bloody cash in his flesh. Marcus hissed at the sudden pain, but paid it no more attention as he knelt and carefully laid Blair on the ground. Trembling fingers searched for a pulse on her neck. After a second, his entire body sagged with relief.

"Blair," he stroked her undamaged left cheek, "Can you hear me?"

No reaction. She was deeply unconscious. Considering the extent of her injuries, that was probably for the best. He couldn't imagine the agony she would be in. Marcus picked her up again and started to walk. He hoped to find other survivors, maybe someone with a working radio so they could call an airlift. A few minutes later he saw a lone figure wandering through the debris field. A tall man with broad shoulders and short brown hair, toting a formidable machine gun. Marcus hurried towards him. "Hey! Over here!"

The man turned. Something about the movement seemed...wrong. Marcus faltered to a halt. He was close enough to see the man's face now. He knew this guy from somewhere, but he could swear it wasn't at the Resistance base. Then it clicked. He _had_ seen that face before. On a security video feed at Skynet, attacking John Connor. But by the time Marcus fought the thing himself its flesh had been burned away, leaving only the metal skeleton behind.

"Oh, shit!" Marcus dodged as the T-800 raised its weapon and sent a volley of bullets his way. He ducked behind the severed tail of an A-10 and placed Blair on the ground as quickly and carefully as possible. He then unshouldered his machine gun and leaped out from cover, firing as he ran in hopes of drawing the Terminator away from Blair. His efforts paid off as the T-800 kept its attention focused on him. Several of Marcus's bullets struck its face, tearing away chunks of flesh to expose the gleaming metal underneath. The Terminator's stony expression didn't waver. Marcus shuddered in revulsion, then wondered how many people reacted the same way to him.

As bullets bounced off his metal ribs, Marcus was keenly aware of the frantically beating heart they sheltered. All it'd take was one lucky shot between those ribs and he was done for. And so was Blair.

His weapon ran out of ammo. He didn't have time to reload, so he grabbed a huge chunk of debris and flung it at the Terminator. The machine dodged, but the missile clipped its shoulder, knocking it off balance for the couple of precious seconds it took for Marcus to eject the spent clip on his gun and slap home a new one. He ran towards his enemy, yelling and shooting nonstop, giving it no time to regain its balance. A lucky shot struck its right elbow and its arm went limp. It tried to switch its grip on its gun to the other hand, but by then Marcus had reached it. Marcus slammed the butt of his once again empty weapon against the robot's face, over and over, shouting obscenities the whole time. More and more of of its features tore away until Marcus was left staring at a grinning death's head.

The T-800 finally managed to knock Marcus aside with its functional arm. The blow was strong enough to send him sprawling. He jumped back to his feet, but not fast enough. The Terminator's weapon was trained on him, and at such close range the bullets were sure to do much worse damage. Marcus braced himself.

A roar overhead jerked both opponents' attentions to the sky where a massive gunship hovered. Armor-piercing bullets sprayed from its turrets. The Terminator seemed to disintegrate under the onslaught. In seconds only an unrecognizable pile of scrap remained.

Marcus waved frantically at the copter. _"Hey!"_ He was keenly aware of his shredded clothes flapping in the downdraft and the metal bones that were no doubt plain to see. Would the pilot recognize him, or simply gun him down? Or would they recognize him and gun him down anyway? _"Get down here!"_ he bellowed, pointing towards the wreckage where he'd left Blair sheltered, _"There's a wounded fighter here! She needs medical attention! Please!"_ The last word was a desperate shriek. He wasn't sure how much time Blair had left before it was too late.

The gunship started to lower. The relief almost made Marcus's legs collapse. As soon as the helicopter touched down two figures leaped out and hurried towards him. Marcus recognized them both, but couldn't recall their names.

"We're doing a search and rescue!" one of them, a young woman with Asian features, explained over the rotor's continued roar.

Marcus once again pointed towards the nearby wreckage. "Blair's back there! She's hurt and unconscious!"

The woman and her partner got a stretcher from the helicopter, then followed him to where he left Blair. They carefully loaded her onto the stretcher, then carried her back to the waiting gunship. The man - Marcus thought his name was something like Tim or Tom - had training as a field medic. He treated Blair as best he could from the limited medical supplies on hand. The copter lifted off and immediately headed for the safe zone. Blair's injuries couldn't wait.

Marcus sat on one of the interior benches and watched the man tend to Blair while the woman kept watch at one of the machine guns. He felt overwhelmed by exhaustion. Not physical, since that was never an issue for him, but mental. He ran a tired hand through his short hair and jerked as his fingers came in contact with bare metal. Shit! A huge chunk of his scalp was missing! This must have happened during the gunfight with the T-800. Marcus suddenly wished he had a hat, not that the others in the copter seemed to care one way or the other. They had more important things to worry about. Still, he could imagine the looks he'd draw once they got to the safe zone. The last thing anybody needed at the moment was a visible reminder of what just displaced them all from the closest thing they had to a home in this hellish world.

He looked at Blair. She was the only person he knew who didn't flinch when confronted with the machine beneath the man. All she ever saw was the man. Not even Marcus could see that in himself.

_Don't die,_ he silently begged the unconscious woman, _Don't leave me alone._

It was the worst time to realize he couldn't live without her.


	6. Damage

**A/N:** Don't worry **Thesaurusgirl**, I won't leave you hanging. ;-)

**Disclaimer: _Terminator Salvation_. Not mine.**

**dam·age [dámmij]**

_n_

1. harm or injury: _physical harm or injury that makes something less useful, valuable, or able to function_

2. adverse effect: _a harmful effect on somebody or something_

3. cost: _the cost or price of something (informal)_

_Resistance Safe Zone, mobile hospital, 6 hrs later..._

The flight to the safe zone took an eternity. The second the copter landed, Blair was rushed to the mobile hospital. Marcus was right behind her. Nobody thought to tell him not to. The huge tent was crowded with wounded fighters and bustling medics, doctors, and field nurses. Thankfully, most of the casualties' wounds weren't life-threatening. The majority of the deaths happened back in the battlefield.

Kate Connor examined Blair herself. She quickly ordered her staff to take the pilot to surgery. Marcus grabbed Kate's arm before she had the chance to follow her patient. "I wanna wait here."

Kate gave him the once over, taking in his torn and bloodied condition. "Clean yourself up first," she said brusquely, "Don't get in anyone's way."

Marcus nodded, but she had already turned her back on him and was walking away. She passed through a tent flap with the word SURGERY stenciled on it and vanished from sight. Marcus stared after her anxiously for a moment, then reluctantly turned away and negotiated a weaving path to the exit.

Outside was every bit as frenetic as people rushed around getting the encampment sorted out. John Connor was in the middle of it all, giving orders in his strong voice and bringing a semblance of order to the chaos around him. He was carrying his newborn daughter, Sarah, in a sling across his chest. The baby was sound asleep in her father's care, unfazed by all the noise and bustle around her.

Marcus approached the Resistance leader with some trepidation. His appearance was drawing more than a few glares. He could feel their eyes on his exposed metal parts. Connor, however, barely spared him a glance. "Heard about that stunt you pulled, leaving the convoy to go after Blair. How is she?"

"In surgery," Marcus answered. He swallowed around a tightness in his throat. "Kate said I could stay, but I need to clean myself up first."

John nodded solemnly. "Your stuff's with the motor pool, right? Know where they are?"

Marcus shook his head.

"I can take him."

Both men turned to see Kyle standing nearby. John nodded curtly. "Alright. Take him there, then hurry back. We have a hell of a lot to get done."

The eager teen rushed off, the cyborg close behind him. Minutes later they saw the familiar collection of vehicles and the mechanics who kept them running. Marcus thanked Kyle.

"Blair's gonna be okay," the young man assured him, "Kate's the best doctor we've got. She'll make it."

Marcus nodded, hoping he was right. The two of them parted ways, Kyle hurrying back to Connor, Marcus headed for the cargo van where he'd stowed his hastily packed things. His fellow grease monkeys were surprised to see him. Apparently, not many expected him to make it back. As Marcus rummaged for a change of clothes, Milo jogged over to him with a relieved grin on his face. "Man, are you a sight! You scared the hell outta me, runnin' off like that."

Marcus dug out a shirt and pants from his duffel. He looked down at his bloody, grimy self and frowned. "We got any water?"

"Yeah, I'll get you some," Milo patted the side of the van, "You can get changed in there."

"Thanks," Marcus said, grateful for the offer of privacy. He didn't relish stripping in front of everybody, not because of a sense of modesty, but because he didn't want them to see the areas of his body where the flesh had been torn away. He touched the spot on his head where the scalp was missing and wished again that he had a hat.

Milo returned with a full bucket and a washrag. He also had a Cubs baseball cap in his other hand. "The hat's just a loan," he cautioned, "I want it back soon as that bald spot's gone."

For the first time that hellish day, Marcus smiled. He accepted the hat and the bucket of wash water with gratitude, then climbed into the back of the van and shut the doors. It was dim inside, since the cargo area didn't have any windows, but Marcus's eyes didn't need much light to see by. He peeled off his ruined clothes and left them in a heap in the corner to dispose of later. He then dipped the washrag into the bucket, wrung it out, and proceeded to rinse off the worst of the blood and grime from his skin. He shuddered a little every time his fingers brushed against metal.

When he was done the water in the bucket was a murky pink color. He threw on his fresh clothes, laced up his boots, and opened the van doors. Milo was waiting outside. "I'll clean everything up," he said, indicating the discarded clothes and the bucket of dirtied water, "I'm guessing you're in a hurry to be somewhere."

"The hospital tent," Marcus explained, "Blair's being operated on."

"D'you know how serious it is?" Milo asked.

Marcus shook his head. "She didn't wake up since I found her. There was a lot of blood..."

Milo squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. "Blair's one of the toughest fighters we got. She won't go down easy, I can tell you that."

"I know," Marcus said, though he didn't feel anywhere near as confident as his words.

* * *

_Resistance Safe Zone, mobile hospital & mess tent..._

Marcus couldn't say for sure how long he waited. Long enough for the other patients' immediate needs to be met and the mobile hospital to settle into a calmer pace. Marcus alternated between sitting hunched over in a metal chair sturdy enough to hold him to pacing restlessly beside the surgery room's door flap. He wished there was a window for him to peer through, even though he doubted he would've been able to see much. At least then he might guess how well things were going by watching the surgical team at work, seeing if they were relatively calm and ordered or frantically scrambling. But Marcus was left in the dark and his fearful imaginings.

He couldn't lose Blair. She was the only thing that kept him going. The only reason he hadn't tried to put an armor-piercing bullet through his steel skull. When he was with her he felt like an actual human being. Not just that, but a man whose life might even be worth a damn. It didn't matter what he told her about his past or how he tried to push her away, she always stood by him, supported him, accepted him. Maybe even loved him. And she took so little in return, far less than she deserved. Marcus silently promised to change that. No more distancing himself. No more holding back. Just let her live...

The door flap moved aside and a tired Kate Connor stepped through. Marcus immediately jumped to his feet and hurried over to her. "What happened? Is she okay?"

Kate rolled her shoulders and tilted her head back with a weary sigh. She still wore her surgical cap and her mask dangled from around her neck. "Blair's stable," she replied, "There was some internal bleeding we got under control. Two broken ribs, fractures in both the tibia and fibula of her left leg, and a hairline fracture to the right clavicle."

"That's a lotta broken bones," Marcus remarked dumbly.

Kate rubbed her forehead. "Having several hundred pounds of wreckage fall on you will do that. Ironically, it also shielded her from the worst of the explosive heat from the crash. You said her right arm was sticking out?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she sustained second- and third-degree burns on that arm. I had to amputate the ring and little fingers from that hand. The damage to them was too severe."

Marcus tried to stay calm by reminding himself that Blair was left-handed and losing a couple of fingers wouldn't hamper her. But something in Kate's expression told him the worst was yet to come. "What aren't you telling me?"

Kate stood, hands on hips, her eyes gazing down and off to the side. She slowly pursed her lips as she searched for the easiest way to break the news, resigned herself to the fact that there was no gentle way to say it. "I found shrapnel in her right eye. I managed to extract it without taking the eye, but the damage..." she hesitated, which was out of character for her.

Marcus felt despair settle into what passed for his gut. "She's gonna be blind on that side, isn't she?"

"She might regain some vision in that eye," Kate said without much hope.

"But not enough so she can still fly," Marcus concluded. There was a reason no one ever heard of a one-eyed pilot, they didn't exist. Aside from lightning reflexes and resistance to intense physical pressure, piloting required excellent depth perception. And depth perception required two functioning eyes.

Marcus clenched his fists and stared down at his boots. Being a pilot was more than just a job for Blair. It was obvious from the way she talked about it. Flying meant everything to her. For the briefest instant Marcus wondered if Blair might've been better off if he never found her. If she'd died out in the battlefield without ever waking up.

"Listen," Kate's voice dragged his attention back to her. He raised his eyes and took in her intensely serious look. "We both know how strong Blair is," she continued, "but if she's going to recover from this trauma she's going to need a support system. For whatever reason she's become emotionally attached to you. I need to know right now if you have what it takes to step up and be there for her, because this is the time when she'll need your help the most."

Marcus took a steadying breath and nodded. After everything Blair had done for him, he couldn't walk away from her now even if he wanted to.

"Good," Kate sighed, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders just a little.

"Can I-" Marcus cleared his throat, "Can I see her?"

"She's still under, and I want to give her some time to recover from the surgery." Kate looked him over with a critical eye. "Go eat something. You look like a Terminator with those metal bones showing."

Marcus self-consciously pulled up the collar of his shirt to hide his damaged flesh. "Lemme know when Blair wakes up."

"I will," Kate assured him, already turning away.

Marcus left the hospital and found his way to the large tent set up as the mess hall. The smell of cooked food triggered a sensation that was the closest to hunger he'd experienced since waking up to this post-Judgment Day world. After all the damage he took his organic components were in desperate need of nutrients and protein. He grabbed a bowl and spoon from the stack and took his place at the end of the line. No one stepped up behind him. Apparently most of the camp had already eaten. As the line inched forward Marcus was all too aware of the furtive glances and whispered exchanges going on around him. There was a time, before he fucked up his life and ended his brother's, when he loved being the center of attention. Now he wished he could just disappear.

Tabitha was among those ladling out the food. Her face lit up when she saw him and she darted out from behind the long table to give him a hug, much to Marcus's consternation. "Milo said you made it back, but it's so good to see it for myself. How's Blair? Is she still in surgery?"

"No, she's out now. She's..." he chewed his lip for a second, "stable."

Tabs heard the words he left unsaid and squeezed his arm in sympathy. "What about you? You alright?"

"Yeah, y'know...take a licking and keep on ticking," he finished lamely. Tabitha smiled anyway.

"C'mon," she said, "Since you're the last in line, you can have as much as you want from whatever we have left."

Marcus surprised himself by eating quite a bit more than he usually did. Maybe he was more torn up than he thought. Not surprisingly, he ended up with a table pretty much to himself. People didn't all get up at once and run off, but they did wind up finishing their meals within the next few minutes after he sat down and left the table in pairs and small groups. Marcus wasn't isolated for long, though. Tabs, Milo, and their seven kids soon arrived to take up the vacant chairs. Marcus found himself sitting between the same two kids as when he'd eaten dinner at their place: the curious little boy and the preteen girl (who still blushed every time he looked at her). The family chattered away while Marcus ate. The sound of all those voices going at once was oddly comforting.

A weird feeling made him look down to see the little boy sticking his finger through a hole in Marcus's wrist to prod the steel parts underneath.

"Max!" Milo barked, "Stop poking at Marcus."

The kid jerked his hand away and slumped in an exaggerated show of contrition. "Sowwy."

Marcus bit back a grin.

"Does it hurt?" the shy girl asked in a tiny voice.

Marcus shrugged. "Kinda itches." He pulled back his sleeve to reveal more of the open gash. Thanks to all the food he just ate, the wound was shrinking quickly.

The little boy Max's eyes widened. "Wow!"

"Too bad we can't all recover that fast," Milo sighed.

Marcus covered his arm again. "That's easy to fix. All you gotta do is donate your body to science," he muttered sourly, "Then fifteen years later, presto."

"Pwesto!" Max chortled, oblivious to the cyborg's bitterness. Marcus gave him a crooked smile and reached over to muss the boy's hair.

"So," Milo said after a moment's awkward silence, "Guess since you're healing up I'll be getting my hat back tomorrow?" His wife rolled her eyes.

Marcus smirked.

A small figure darted through the maze of tables and ran up to Marcus. His expression morphed into a genuine smile. "Hey, Star."

The little girl tugged at his sleeve.

"What?" Marcus sobered, "Did Kate send you."

Star nodded and pointed in the direction of the hospital. Her behavior said it was urgent.

"Don't worry about the dishes. I'll take care of them," Tabs said.

"Thanks." Marcus got to his feet and hurried after Star, who'd already trotted ahead.

* * *

_Resistance Base, mobile hospital ICU..._

Marcus thanked Star before entering the ICU. The silent girl smiled and threw her arms around his waist in a brief hug before leaving. A nurse escorted Marcus into the private room where Blair lay hooked up to a variety of equipment to monitor her life signs. The steadiness of the quiet beeps did little to reassure him. Most of the right side of her face was covered in bandages, and her right hand was wrapped up like a mummy's. Marcus also noticed the long hill under the blanket which indicated the cast on her left leg. Her complexion was pale and the area around her good eye was bruised. It hurt Marcus to see her this way.

John and Barnes were in the room, as well as Kate. Blair was awake and reclining in her hospital bed. She looked weak, either from her wounds or from the drugs running through the system. Or both. If the bed wasn't reclined, she wouldn't have been able to sit up. But despite her exhaustion, she beamed when she saw Marcus.

"Hey," she rasped, "My knight in shining armor."

Marcus went to stand at her left side. Blair reached out and grasped his hand with her undamaged one. "Kate was just about to give me the bad news," she told him. She tried to keep her tone light, but Marcus heard the anxiety underneath.

"We were waiting for you," Kate said, and her look told him to be ready for whatever Blair's reaction might be. She then proceeded to tell the fallen pilot the extent of her injuries. As she talked Blair's face remained relatively calm. Her grip on Marcus's hand tightened for a second when Kate related to her the amputated fingers. But when the doctor told her about her eye, Blair went completely still.

"We need to give your eye time to heal before we can find out how much of your vision you'll get back," Kate continued, calm and professional, "But it's unlikely you'll ever regain your full sight."

Blair still didn't react. She might have been listening to a weather report for all the emotion she showed.

John spoke, "We've lost a lot of good soldiers to a lot less that what you've survived. You're one of our strongest fighters. You'll survive this and come out even stronger."

"We're all here for ya, Blair," Barnes assured her, "Everybody's gonna help you get through this."

Blair licked her lips and swallowed. "Could you, uh... Could you please go? I need some time to process this."

"Okay. There's a nurse just outside if you need anything," Kate said as she ushered her husband and Barnes out the door. They said a few more supportive words before they left. Kate paused to look at Marcus. He hadn't moved from the bedside, and Blair still held his hand. Kate nodded once, then left the room as well.

A few minutes passed in which neither Blair nor Marcus moved or spoke. Then Blair's stoic expression slowly collapsed and her shoulders trembled as she began to cry. Marcus watched helplessly for a moment. He started to pull away, but Blair's fingers tightened around his. She struggled to compose herself enough to talk. "Um," she somehow managed to keep her voice steady, "Don't go, okay?"

Marcus stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere."

He glanced around, saw a stool close by and dragged it closer with his free arm. He lowered himself onto it with some trepidation, wondering if it could support his weight. It creaked a little, but held firm. Marcus leaned his elbows against the bed and cradled Blair's hand in both of his. "I'm right here."

Blair nodded, unable to say any more. She squeezed her eye shut and turned her face away. For the longest time the only sounds in the room were the beeps of the monitoring equipment and Blair's quiet sobs.


	7. Tender

**A/N:** Just so's you know, I am in no way a doctor or nurse. I know next to nothing about medicine and how long it takes a body to heal. I'm gonna try to gloss over as much as I can, but if I make some blatant error that's sure to make any medical professionals out there wince, my apologies. Remember, it's only a fanfic!

**Disclaimer: _Terminator Salvation_ and its characters don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a while.**

**ten·der [téndər]**

_adj_

1. physically painful: _hurting or unusually sensitive when touched or pressed_

2. with gentle feeling: _showing care, gentleness, and feeling_

3. kind and sympathetic: _sensitive and caring toward others and often feeling emotions intensely_

_New Resistance Base, infirmary, 3 weeks later..._

Marcus rarely left her side in the weeks to come. And they were tough weeks, not just because of Blair's wounds and her emotional state, but also because no sooner would they settle into a safe zone than they all had to pick up and move again. Blair hated it. She felt like little more than talking luggage, unable to pitch in and pull her own weight. She hated spending so much of her time bedridden. She hated the pain meds that left her mind foggy and prone to giggling or weeping in turns. She hated the sponge baths, the relentless itch beneath her leg cast, and the fact that she couldn't even wipe her own ass after she took a dump. She hated the loss of her independence.

There were times when she took her frustrations out on Marcus. She snapped at him for inconsequential reasons and sulked like a spoiled kid when he didn't rise to the bait. Then the anger would fade and the guilt would set in, and Blair would turn the verbal abuse on herself. As it turned out, Marcus had way less patience for her self-loathing than he did with her bitching at him.

"You wouldn't let me get away with that kinda shit," he told her at one point. This logic, of course, only pissed her off even more.

Finally, they reached the site chosen as the new base. It was an old silver mine, abandoned long before the war. Careful inspection revealed the tunnel supports were sound. There were plenty of large chambers, many of them quite dry, which made them safe enough to inhabit. There was even a huge artificial cavern carved into the hillside that was once used to house the mining operation's vehicles, which now proved ideal for both the motor pool and the remaining aircraft. Once they got the generators and lights set up, the mine proved to be as good as their last base, if not a little better.

Now that they were finally no longer on the move, Marcus decided it was time to talk to Kate about Blair's situation.

"She's going stir-crazy," he said, following the busy doctor while she took a tally of the dispensary. Kate could've delegated the chore to one of her staff, but she never quite trusted them to do it right. Not since she caught one of them filching Vicodin.

"That's a normal reaction when someone as active as Blair is forced to be sedate," she muttered absently.

Marcus fought the urge to slap the clipboard out of her hands. "So, let her _do_ something," he ground out, "She can't stay in bed the whole time. Give her the okay to get up once in a while, even just to go to the bathroom."

Kate finally raised her eyes from her checklist to look at him. As usual when the doctor scrutinized him, Marcus felt himself tense up. He didn't like the way she always seemed to be appraising him like he was some kind of specimen. He wasn't about to let her know how much it got to him, though. He stood firm and waited her out. After a couple of minutes, Kate nodded and returned her gaze to the shelves where she started counting boxes of medications. "Go on down to supplies and get a crutch," she said in a vaguely distracted tone, "Only one, since I don't want Blair using her damaged hand until it's had more time to heal."

Marcus blinked in surprise. Somehow, he expected more of an argument from her. "Uh, okay then." He turned away and walked out of the dispensary. Because their backs were to each other, he didn't see the way Kate's mouth twitched in a smirk.

The bored supply officer handed over the crutch without a word. Marcus hurried back to the chamber designated as the infirmary. Like the barracks, individual rooms were separated by thick curtains to give at least the illusion of privacy. Marcus leaned into the opening to Blair's room, keeping the crutch out of sight, and grinned. "Guess what I got."

Blair looked up from the book she was trying to read, her expression a mixture of boredom and frustration. "What," she said dully.

Marcus stepped in and held up the crutch with a flourish. The look on Blair's face was priceless. The perpetual dissatisfaction fell away to hopeful excitement. "Kate said it's time for you to go mobile," Marcus announced, "From now on you can haul your own ass to the toilet."

Blair flung the book aside without a thought, her good arm reaching eagerly. "Give it here!"

Chuckling, Marcus went to her and handed over the crutch. Blair twisted around so her legs hung over the side of the bed, then planted her right foot and the rubber tip of the crutch on the floor and slowly pushed herself upright. Marcus hovered beside her, ready to catch her if she lost her balance, but kept his hands to himself. "How's the height?" he asked.

Blair tucked the padded crossbar under her arm. "Could use a couple more inches," she said.

Marcus had her sit back down while he adjusted the crutch's height. When she stood up and tucked it under her arm again she nodded in approval.

"Let's see ya take a step," Marcus encouraged.

It was awkward as hell. Blair put her weight on the crutch and hopped forward on her good leg, then quickly moved the crutch forward while she balanced on her foot. She looked at Marcus with her one eye. "How was that."

Marcus smirked. "You look like Tiny Tim."

She laughed, "I was hoping for Long John Silver. I mean, I already got the whole pirate look going on." She indicated the patch over her right eye.

Marcus's grin broadened. The fact that she could joke about herself meant the crutch with its promise of a little independence was a success. The knot of worry in his chest loosened just a little. "Think you can make it across the room?"

"The hell with that," she said, grimacing, "I gotta pee." She started to hobble towards her room's opening and out into the hall. Marcus stayed right beside her and tried not to look nervous. The closest restroom was situated in a smaller chamber a short ways down the tunnel. Not a long walk for the able-bodied, but for Blair it was bound to be an ordeal. Her face was screwed up with determination as sweat beaded her forehead. An occasional wince betrayed the fact that all this jostling wasn't doing her ribs any good.

Marcus held his tongue until they were about halfway there and he could tell Blair's energy was flagging. "Want some help?"

"I can do it," she growled, but not at him. "No...more...carrying," she gritted out the words between hops, "No...more...god...damned..." She pushed past the curtain at the doorway and hop-stepped over to the closest chemical toilet. "...bedpans," she concluded with a sigh. Her shoulders were slumped and she was breathing heavily. Weeks of inactivity had taken a toll on her stamina.

Marcus waited a moment for her to catch her breath before he offered to pull her drawers down for her. He was pretty sure if she tried it on her own, one-handed while standing on one leg, she was bound to wind up flat on her face.

Blair smirked at him. "Admit it, you're just jumping at an excuse to get into my panties."

He chuckled, "You got me." Despite the jokes, there was nothing sexual in the way he did the task. He knelt down and reached under her hospital gown, hooked his fingers in the waistband of her plain cotton underwear, and pulled them down past her knees. His eyes were averted the whole time. "That okay?"

Blair nodded. "Thanks."

"'Kay," Marcus stood and headed for the door, "Lemme know when you're done." He leaned against the tunnel wall outside the bathroom until he heard Blair call out. He then went back inside and helped her pull her underwear back up. "Think you can make it back?" he asked.

Blair let out a tired laugh. "I dunno. Guess we'll see in a minute."

She managed about a third of the way before her strength finally gave out. Marcus scooped her up in his arms without a word and carried her the rest of the way back to her room.

Blair mumbled against his shoulder, "I hate being weak like this."

"You did more than most would've in your situation," Marcus retorted, "You just need to keep at it, get your strength back." He lay her down on the hospital bed.

Blair smiled, her eyelids growing heavy. "Thanks for this," she said, hugging the crutch to her like a teddy bear.

Marcus brushed her hair back from her face. It was shorter than it used to be, since some of it was singed when she got hurt and it had to be trimmed back to even it out, but it was still thick and luxuriant as the strands slipped through his fingers. "You're welcome."

"And thanks for putting up with me. I know I can be kind of a bitch sometimes."

"You put up with me," he said, still stroking her hair, "I'm just returning the favor."

"Mmmm." Her eye was closed now. Her breathing slowed until Marcus knew she was asleep. He bent down to gently kiss her forehead, then sat down on the chair beside her bed, picked up the book she discarded earlier, and started to read.

* * *

_Resistance Base, 18 hrs later..._

One of the nurses showed up to give Blair her sponge bath, so Marcus left the infirmary to give her some privacy. He wandered through the maze of tunnels in the abandoned mine without any destination in mind. He passed other resistance members on occasion. More than a few nodded hello as they walked by, which Marcus thought was kind of weird. He was used to furtive sidelong glances or being snubbed. Those were reactions he could understand. He didn't know what the hell was up with all the politeness.

The sounds of children playing drew his attention. He followed the echoing laughter to the chamber that was apparently set up as a playroom. There were more than twenty kids of various ages playing games or with scavenged toys, in groups or pairs or even alone. Marcus recognized some of Milo's kids, and Star building some doodad with parts from an old Erector Set. There were also a few adults presiding over the youngsters. Marcus recognized one of them as the old woman he, Star, and Kyle encountered at the gas station and who had been abducted along with the kids by the harvester. Marcus tried to remember her name, then realized he didn't know it.

It suddenly occurred to him that he really only knew about a handful of people's names in the entire base, and most of them were little more than acquaintances. The revelation shocked him. He used to be an outgoing person. Before he went to prison, Marcus had enough buds to fill an entire nightclub. Now he didn't even have enough friends to take up a single room. Marcus knew he was as much to blame for his isolation as everyone else. He didn't exactly go out of his way to ingratiate himself. This didn't bother him before, though. He wondered what changed.

"You look like you're mulling over something unpleasant," the old woman remarked.

Marcus started. He hadn't even heard the thunk of her walking stick when she moved closer to him. "No, uh, not really," he stammered.

The old woman's careworn features were softened by a warm smile. "How is Blair doing?"

Marcus blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you knew her."

She chuckled, "Oh, everyone knows of her. People talk of the two of you quite often."

"Uh-huh." He could just imagine what they were saying. "She's getting better. Been learning to walk with a crutch."

"That's good. Everyone is pulling for her."

Several of the kids noticed his presence by then and were whispering amongst themselves while casting quick looks his way. Star got up and trotted over to him with a bright smile on her face. She was carrying something in her hands which she held up for his inspection. Marcus stared at it for a second before his eyes widened in comprehension. Star had used the Erector Set parts to create a model of the tow truck she, Marcus, and Kyle used to make their getaway from the gas station. It even had that cow catcher thing on the front.

"Well, that's a helluva thing," Marcus declared. Star beamed.

The old woman squeezed the girl's shoulder. "Star is very inventive," she said fondly. The way the child smiled back at her brought a tightness to Marcus's chest. He could see they'd developed a bond since their abduction and subsequent escape from Skynet. Even before then, really. When others would've driven Marcus and his companions away, this old woman stood up for them and even gave them food that most likely couldn't be spared.

"You've been looking out for her?" Marcus asked.

The old woman replied with a smirk, "As much as she's willing to let me." Star ducked her head in apparent bashfulness, though there was an impish gleam to her eyes.

"Well, thanks for that, uh..."

"Virginia," the old woman nodded modestly, "And it's no trouble. I enjoy looking out for others. Some days I think that's the only thing that keeps this old body of mine running."

Marcus wasn't fooled. He knew Virginia was tougher than she looked. She had to be.

"I'd better head back," he said, checking his watch. Blair's bath time should've been done by now.

"Tell Blair we all wish her luck with her recovery," Virginia told him.

"Sure." Marcus lightly tapped Star on the nose, which earned him a grin. "See ya later, kid." The girl nodded.

As he started to leave, Virginai's voice halted him, "And, Marcus..."

He looked at her over his shoulder.

"Good luck to you as well." The old woman winked.

Marcus's eyebrows lowered in a puzzled frown and he turned to continue on his way.

* * *

_Resistance Base, infirmary..._

Kate Connor stepped into Blair's room as soon as the nurse finished washing her and left, almost as if the doctor had been waiting for the opportunity to get her patient alone. "How're you feeling?" she asked.

"Bored," Blair sighed, "Achy. Impatient. I really wanna get out of these bandages and splints and start _doing_ things."

"Well, with a little luck and a lot of determination, it shouldn't take much longer." Kate seated herself in the chair Marcus usually occupied and reached for Blair's bandaged hand. "Let's see how well this is healing."

Blair sat passively as the layers of fabric were unwound and the sterile gauze peeled away from her hand. She frowned at the sight of the angry scars that marred the back of her hand, her wrist, and a ways down her forearm. The most uncomfortable part for her was the skin grafts on her hand, which also covered the stumps of her amputated fingers. The skin looked strange, shiny and unreal.

"Looks good," Kate said as she examined the hand.

Blair arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yeah. The skin grafts are healing nicely. No signs of infection. I think we can start putting a lighter bandage on and start you on rehab so you can regain use of the hand."

"Fine with me. I'm sick of doing everything one-handed." Blair scratched absently at her leg just above the cast.

"Leg still itches?"

"Constantly," she growled.

"That means it's healing."

"Well, I wish it'd heal faster!"

Kate smiled in sympathy. "Three more weeks. Four tops. Then we can take the cast off."

Blair sighed, her left hand touched the patch over her right eye. "And this?" she asked in a quieter voice.

Kate rested a hand on her friend's knee. "I want to wait a little longer. Give your eye more time to heal."

Blair swallowed and nodded. To say she felt ambivalent towards whatever might happen once the eye patch came off was putting it mildly. Blair was coming to terms with the fact that her flying days were over, but the thought that she might not see anything from her injured eye scared the hell out of her. Not just because it might hamper her ability to shoot straight, but because it would mark her as a cripple. A damaged, half-blind object of pity. She wasn't sure she could deal with that.

"I'm surprised Wright isn't here," Kate remarked as she set about applying a new, thinner bandage to Blair's hand, "Seems like he hasn't let you out of his sight for more than two minutes."

Blair smirked. "He always leaves when I get my sponge bath."

"That's gentlemanly of him."

"Yeah, we'll go with that." Something in her tone caused Kate to meet her gaze.

"There a problem between you two?"

"No. Well, yeah, but it's not his fault." Blair shifted uncomfortably.

Kate returned her attention to the bandaging. "You wanna talk about it?"

Blair chewed her lip as she thought it over. She hadn't told anyone about the nature of her relationship with Marcus. It wasn't anyone's business but theirs. But that didn't mean she did not need someone to confide in once in a while. At such times she normally turned to Kate. She was a good listener and knew when to keep things said between them private. But when it came to Marcus as the subject, Blair wasn't so sure. She got the impression Kate still viewed him as just another machine, albeit a tamed one.

As if reading her mind, Kate said to her quietly, "I promise not to come off as judgmental. I respect your feelings for him, even if I don't completely understand them."

Those words were enough to decide her. "Marcus is a great guy," she said, "I really feel like he's everything I ever wanted in a man. We _fit_ each other, y'know?"

Kate nodded, a faint smile on her face. It was very much like how she felt about John.

"It's just..." Blair searched for the right words, "I know it sounds shallow and I'm probably gonna come off as a slut, but...I like sex. I _really_ like it. And I miss it."

Kate laughed. "Blair, there's nothing wrong with liking sex. It's an important part of anybody's psychological health, especially these days." She squeezed Blair's knee. "I promise, it'll only be a few more weeks before you'll be recovered enough to have at it."

"But that's just it," Blair said, "We can't."

"What do you mean?"

"Marcus," she swallowed a lump in her throat, "He can't."

Kate's mouth opened as she finally grasped the other woman's meaning. "Oh. Blair, I'm sorry."

Blair turned away so she couldn't see the tears threatening to fall. "Fucking Skynet," she snarled, "It wasn't enough to violate his body and manipulate him for its own plans. It couldn't even let him have this."

Kate finished bandaging Blair's hand and started packing away the rest of the materials, her expression thoughtful. "That doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it."

"No, I mean," Kate waved her hands around to stress her words, "Wright was designed by Skynet to be the perfect infiltrator, as close to human as it could make him. Even _he_ didn't realize what he was until half his organic components were blasted away by that landmine. He bleeds, sweats, eats, defecates. He has a heartbeat, a brain, living skin. I'm sure he even dreams when he sleeps. He was made to blend in with humans indefinitely. So why this one blatant flaw?"

Blair snorted. "I've met more than one guy who couldn't get it up. That doesn't mean they weren't human."

"Exactly!" Kate's finger jabbed out, "Maybe the problem isn't with the hardware. Maybe it's a software problem." She tapped the side of her own head for emphasis.

Blair frowned. "You think it's all in his mind?" She sounded doubtful.

"I think we can both agree the guy has a lot of issues to work through."

For the first time in a long while, Blair felt a glimmer of hope. If Marcus's inability to make love was psychological rather than physical, then he could possibly work through whatever was holding him back and their relationship could progress the way it should. "You really think there's a chance?"

"I might be wrong," Kate admitted, "But I really think Skynet intended him to be indistinguishable from a healthy human male, in every way."

Blair smiled as something akin to relief washed over her. "Oh god, I really hope you're right."

At that moment, Marcus appeared at the room's entryway. He gave Kate a wary look and said, "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"I was just leaving." Kate got to her feet and gave Blair a smile in farewell.

Marcus stepped aside so the doctor could pass him, then went to sit in the chair she'd vacated. "Kate looked you over?"

"Yep. She says I'm healing well and in a few weeks I'll be out of this damn cast." She rapped her knuckles against the offending plaster.

Marcus looked at her oddly.

"What?"

He reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek, causing her breath to catch from the intimate gesture. "You've been crying." He showed her the moisture on the pad of his thumb.

"Oh, uh," she wiped her hand across her damp cheek. Yet another thing to add to the list of stuff she hated about being laid up: it made her emotional. "Just all that poking and prodding. Guess I'm still pretty tender."

Marcus could tell she wasn't telling him everything, but he didn't push it. He gently caressed her face and Blair surprised him by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. As usual, Marcus's heart sped up the moment their lips touched and a feeling like desire rushed through him. He rested his hands on the small of her back, letting her know he wanted to prolong this as much as she did. But even as he indulged in this small pleasure a sadness rose in him. He wished he was able to give her more of himself. But this was all they had. He hoped it was enough.


	8. Deny

**A/N:** Hi, there! Betcha thought I forgot all about this story, huh? Well, it took a while - more than a while, really - but I finally finished another chapter! Hopefully this means the ol' muse is up and running again. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: _Terminator Salvation_ doesn't belong to me in any way, shape, or form.**

**de·ny [di nī]**

(_past_ de·nied, _past participle_ de·nied, _present participle_ de·ny·ing, _3rd person present singular_ de·nies)

_v_

1. say something is not true: _to declare that something is not true or not the case _

2. refuse: _to refuse something to somebody_

3. refuse to acknowledge: _to refuse to acknowledge somebody_

4. not allow yourself: _to refuse to gratify your needs or desires_

_New Resistance Base, Blair's & Marcus's quarters, 1 week later..._

When Blair was deemed fit enough to move out of the infirmary, Marcus shocked them both by offering to let her move into his quarters. There was plenty of space. He was living in a smallish chamber off one of the main passages that led to the motor pool. Marcus discovered it more or less by accident one day and immediately staked a claim, attracted to its relative isolation. Blair didn't hesitate to take him up on his offer. A second cot was dragged into the chamber along with all her possessions. Once everything was settled in, the place was surprisingly cozy.

Blair grew more adept at getting around with the help of the crutch. That and her increasing stamina allowed her a measure of independence, which in turn bolstered her morale. Marcus saw more and more of the old Blair in her, and less of the broken woman he'd carried off the battlefield all those weeks ago.

There were still some rough times. In the beginning, Blair's fellow pilots paid regular visits to her at the infirmary, but it was uncomfortable for everyone. Blair's condition was a painful reminder of what could happen to any one of them, and telling her about their latest flights only served to rub in the fact that she would no longer be having such adventures. Problem was, they really didn't have anything else to talk about. The silences grew longer and more stifling. Pretty soon the fliers' visits became shorter and less frequent, until they finally stopped coming altogether. It saddened Blair to lose touch with her friends, but in time she figured it was for the best. They didn't need her showing them the worst case scenario for a wounded pilot, and she didn't need them reminding her of what she'd lost. Her wounds did that enough.

"Let's take a look," Kate murmured. She had come by to finally check the progress of Blair's damaged eye. Blair sat on the edge of her cot, trying not to fidget. Marcus stood close by with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. At Kate's behest, he'd turned down the lanterns scattered throughout the room. They didn't want to overwhelm the eye with too much light after spending so much time covered.

Kate gently removed the patch from Blair's right eye. "Okay, put your hand over your other eye."

Blair did so.

"Now, slowly open your right eye."

This was it, the moment when they would know for sure whether Blair was completely blind on that side. Blair swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. At first the eye didn't want to open. The lids were stuck together. But finally, the upper lid peeled back.

Marcus was surprised to see her eye was the same shade of brown it always was. For some reason, he expected it to be paler, like it was filmed over with cataracts. But there was hardly any visible sign of the trauma it sustained. Just a few healing nicks in the surrounding skin and along her cheek where she'd been peppered by shrapnel. He watched as her eye blinked rapidly and started to water - because of the light, he wondered, or just the cool air?

"Can you see anything?" Kate asked in a low voice.

Blair was silent for a long time, then her chin started to tremble. "I...I can see. It's all different colored blobs," she sniffled, "But I can see."

Marcus felt his shoulders slump in relief. He knew how much the thought of blindness preyed on Blair's thoughts. Even a little vision was better than nothing, if only for her peace of mind.

Kate smiled. "That's good. There might even be some improvement over time. But we don't want to rush it. Keep the eye covered in regular light for now. Remove it for a few hours here in your quarters and gradually increase the light to give your vision time to adapt."

"Okay." Blair lowered her left hand and turned to gaze at Marcus with both eyes uncovered. Her smile was dazzling in the dimly lit room. Marcus returned it with equal relief.

* * *

_New Resistance Base, infirmary, 2 weeks later..._

The power saw whined as the blade cut through the plaster encasing Blair's leg. It made Marcus nervous as hell. He kept imagining the saw cutting too deep and blood erupting through the gash in the cast. But that didn't happen. Kate wielded the dangerous tool with cool competence and minutes later the cast was neatly split open.

Blair's eyes widened as she got her first glimpse of her newly healed leg. "Oh my god..."

The leg's muscles had withered during the weeks of inactivity. Blair stared at the thin appendage in horrified dismay.

Kate hurried to reassure her, "It's perfectly normal, Blair. You just need a few weeks of physiotherapy to build up the muscles and it'll be good as new."

"Great," the former pilot muttered. Therapy for the eye, therapy for the hand, and now her leg. It felt as if she spent half her life doing physio. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever regain even a semblance of the able-bodied-ness she once took for granted.

Kate reached over and squeezed her arm in sympathy. "I know it's frustrating."

Blair bit back an acerbic response. _What the hell do you know? You still have all your working parts._ Instead, she forced herself to mumble thanks and stood up to leave, her left hand automatically reaching for her crutch.

Marcus sensed her black mood on the slow walk home. He would have taken her free hand, but he knew she'd only tense up even more. She tried to hide it, but her right hand with its missing fingers disturbed her. It was the most blatant and lasting reminder of what she went through, and what it cost her.

Blair finally grated out, "I hate this."

"I know." What else could he say, really?

"I wish..." she sighed, "I wish I didn't feel so _frail._"

"You're not frail," he told her, "You're getting stronger."

"Yeah," she answered dully. And the way she held her head he could tell she was studiously _not_ looking at her right hand. She never looked at it, if she could help it. Somehow, seeing this now decided Marcus and he reached over to grip her mangled hand in his. As expected, she tensed at the contact, but the tension faded after a while. Her remaining fingers even tightened around his a little.

When they reached their chamber Blair said she was tired and went to lie down on her cot. Marcus watched her doze while he pretended to work on a radio somebody salvaged during a scouting expedition. He hated seeing Blair depressed, but he knew her mood would soon improve once she experienced the progress she made with her leg. He had no doubts that her recovery would continue at its encouraging pace. She was already doing so much better.

Marcus didn't let it show, but even though he was glad to see Blair getting better, part of him also dreaded the day she fully healed and didn't need him anymore. Helping her through this ordeal had been the most fulfilling time of his life, both before and after Judgment Day. More than once Blair told him she couldn't have gotten through this without him. Marcus wasn't so sure that was true, but it felt good to hear it anyway.

But more than that, he found himself treasuring the time they spent together. More so now, since it was gradually becoming less frequent. Blair had already convinced him to start working a few hours a day at the motor pool, telling him she was able enough to get around on her own for a while. It wasn't a rejection, he knew that, but it still felt that way sometimes. Marcus wished he had the guts to ask her where this "thing" between them was going. Where could it go, really? What the hell did he have to offer her anyway? He wasn't human. Most of him wasn't even flesh and blood. He couldn't even get a hard-on, for Christ's sake! What could she possibly get out of a freak like him? All he had was his love for her.

Marcus tensed. The admission, voiced only in his thoughts, brought with it a jolt of something akin to panic. It couldn't be that! He'd never been capable of loving anyone outside of family when he was human. Why the hell did he have to start now when he was a machine? Oh shit, he just admitted it again! Once was a slip-up, but twice in as many seconds? It had to be true. He barely managed to suppress a groan of despair. He couldn't let Blair know, not even an inkling. It would only encourage her hopeless infatuation. He had to try and distance himself from her. It was the only way he could think of sparing her any future heartache.

Marcus's tortured thoughts were interrupted when his enhanced ears picked up the sounds of footsteps approaching. He put down the partially dismantled radio and went to the entryway, pushing the privacy curtain aside as he stepped through. Barnes paused only for a second at the cyborg's unexpected appearance, then closed the remaining distance between them. "Wright," he said curtly.

"Barnes," he responded in the same tone, "Why the visit?"

Connor's second-in-command kept his expression totally neutral. "There's a salvage op headin' out tomorrow. Members of the team wanted to know if you'd go with them."

Marcus frowned, confused. "They asked that? Why?"

"Dangerous area they're headin' into. Recon spotted HKs and ground troops doing regular searches."

"Then why go out there in the first place?"

"There's a vet clinic. The machines don't guard those like they do regular hospitals. Some of the animal meds can be used on humans, if there's nothin' else. Plus we could use some stuff for the dogs."

Marcus nodded in understanding. The dogs kept by the Resistance were invaluable as guards, and it was also recently discovered that they detected and reacted violently towards any T-800s trying to infiltrate the base (for some strange reason, though, they seemed indifferent to Marcus, despite all his metal parts).

"So, what?" he asked, "They figure having me along 'll give 'em an edge?"

For the first time in the conversation, Barnes's cool facade eased enough to reveal a smirk. "Well, you did fight off a whole platoon of Terminators to rescue Blair."

"Christ, is that what people are saying?" Marcus scoffed.

Barnes shrugged. "Exaggeration aside, there ain't that many humans who could've done what you did alone."

"Sure. A housebroken cyborg's a wonderful pet to have," Marcus didn't try to hide the bitterness in his tone.

"I don't give a shit what you are," Barnes snapped, "long as you get our people back safe. You in or not?"

Marcus pursed his lips and turned his head to glance back through the gap in the privacy curtain. He saw Blair curled up in her cot like before, only her eyes were open. She met his gaze and moved her head in the slightest nod. Marcus turned back to Barnes. "Fine, I'm in."

Barnes told him where and when to meet the rest of the team, then marched off without so much as a nod in farewell.

"Nice to see you two getting along," Blair remarked as he reentered the room.

Marcus snorted, "Sure, like two peas in a damn pod."

"Least he's not firing rockets at you anymore."

"Or trussing me up and shooting me with hollow-points." Marcus sat down on the edge of his bed - whose reinforced frame still creaked under his weight - and slowly rubbed both hands down his suddenly tired-looking face. "Think this is a good idea?"

Blair turned over to face him. "I do."

"Could just be an excuse to get rid of me, y'know. Team comes back, says I had an accident or died a heroic death-"

"I don't believe that," Blair retorted calmly, "Since I talked you into working more hours at the motor pool again I've been getting around on my own, hearing things. Things people say about you."

"Uh huh," Marcus said dully.

"Wanna know what they're saying?"

"Nope." He stretched out on his cot, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. "Right now I just wanna get some shuteye before the big day."

Blair knew it was mere avoidance on his part, but she let it go for now. "Sweet dreams, Marcus."

She reached out to switch off the lantern sitting on the footlocker situated at the head of her cot. In the darkened room, Marcus's quiet voice replied, "You too."


	9. Human

**Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the _Terminator_ franchise or any of its characters.**

**hu·man [hyóomən]**

_adj_

1. of people: _relating to, involving, or typical of human beings _

2. made up of people: _composed of people _

3. compassionately kind: _showing kindness, compassion, or approachability_

4. imperfect: _having the imperfections and weaknesses of a human being rather than a machine_

_Resistance Base, the next morning..._

Marcus's internal clock woke him with plenty of time to get ready before hooking up with the salvage team. Blair was still sound asleep when he left their quarters. She mentioned that she wanted him to wake her to say goodbye, and he felt a pang from his conscience for not doing so, but he knew it was easier to keep his resolve in distancing himself from her if he didn't have to actually deal with her. Not exactly the bravest choice, he admitted.

His first stop was to the quartermaster to pick up a day's worth of food and water rations, plus a full med kit, then off to the armory where he was given a sidearm and a heavy machine gun, along with plenty of extra ammo. Marcus hefted his now heavily loaded pack and wondered how the hell anybody could be expected to carry a load like this all day. For him it wasn't a problem, but the others... _Tough bastards_, he thought, not for the first time.

The salvage op team was waiting for him at the motor pool. There were three people in the group (which seemed like way too few in his opinion) plus one dog. The one leading the mission was Sergeant Earhart, a stocky woman whose face could be described as handsome rather than pretty, with white-blonde hair cut boyishly short, and icy blue eyes that rarely blinked. Marcus heard she was a real hard-ass, but fiercely loyal to those on her team. In more than fifty salvage ops, she only lost one man, and that was during one of her earliest missions. Nobody else could boast a better record, not even Connor.

Corporal Guiterez was the youngest of the group, barely in his twenties, yet with the gaze of someone far older. Looking at him reminded Marcus of Kyle Reese, who'd experienced things in his young life no teenager should have to face. In the war against the machines, people aged fast or died young.

Corporal Chase, on the other hand, looked totally out of place among his teammates. He didn't look like a soldier at all, just an average middle-aged guy with a carefully trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and soft gray eyes surrounded by laugh lines. He sat a little apart from the others on an old crate, absently patting the large brown mutt seated by his knee. The dog's name was Kim. Her job was to act as their early warning system, and Corporal Chase was her handler.

Sergeant Earhart briefed Marcus on the mission. It sounded simple enough: head for the moderately-sized town about eighty miles from the base, sneak into the veterinary clinic, grab whatever the docs put on the list of desired items, and get out, all without getting spotted by the machine patrols.

"We doing all this in daylight?" Marcus asked.

"Machines got infrared," the sarge reminded him with a touch of impatience, "In daylight we can see them as well as they can see us."

"Right," Marcus grinned self-effacingly, "Guess I should've known that."

Earhart's stony expression didn't change. She pointed at a row of four motorcycles waiting for them. "You know how to ride?"

"Yeah."

"Then mount up."

One of the bikes had a sidecar which Kim hopped into without prompting. On closer inspection, Marcus was dismayed to discover that some of the parts used to cobble the vehicles together were apparently taken from Moto-Terminators. Walking around the front of the motorcycle assigned to him, he found himself confronting the darkened lenses that was once glowing red eyes.

"We ain't gonna wait for you," Guiterez called out. Marcus shook himself and climbed onto the bike. Four engines hummed to life and the salvage team rode up the ramp leading to the concealed exit. Once out in the open they put on the speed and the resistance base soon vanished far behind them.

* * *

_Eighty miles from Resistance Base, five hours later..._

Despite the advantage of riding fast motorcycles, it still took the entire morning to reach their destination. There was no shortage of obstacles to slow them down, from derelict cars cluttering the roads to passing Hunter-Killers or ground troops they needed to hide from. During one of these long waits, holed up in some ruins of what used to be a highway rest stop, they broke out the rations. Cold pork and beans and stale crackers. Marcus didn't really need any food at that time, but he ate anyway. No sense reminding everyone of his differences.

Marcus watched as Corporal Chase fed Kim before digging into his own meal. The guy seemed more comfortable with his dog's company than anyone else's. Marcus hadn't heard him say more than two words so far. But then, nobody in this bunch could really be described as chatty.

Once the coast was clear, they finished the last leg of their journey. They hid the bikes just outside of town and slowly crept towards the outskirts. They didn't need to see Kim's sudden tension to know there was danger. Hardly a minute passed where they didn't see groups of T-600s and 700s marching by. The place was crawling with them.

"Jesus," Marcus whispered, "What the hell are they all doin' in that pissant town anyway?"

"Coulda been some human activity spotted," Guiterez speculated, "Maybe salvagers who weren't so good at keepin' under the radar."

Earhart surveyed the town with a set of powerful binoculars. "Looks like they're concentrating their patrols around the Wal-Mart. Might've been some recent raids on the pharmacy."

"Where's the vet clinic?" Marcus asked.

Guiterez and Chase also had their binoculars out. Chase pointed somewhere east of the Wal-Mart. "Over there. Looks like the machines are pretty much ignoring it."

"Good for us." Guiterez offered his binocs to Marcus. Marcus shook his head. "Don't need 'em," he mumbled. The young man quirked an eyebrow at this, but said nothing.

They observed the patrols for a few minutes until they got their patterns down, then headed in. Fortunately, there were plenty of buildings, abandoned cars, and piles of rubble to use for cover. They dashed between these points of concealment with as little noise as possible. Twenty minutes later they were huddled amidst the hulks of an old car pileup gazing at the clinic's weathered facade across the street. Aside from peeling paint and a couple of broken windows, the building appeared untouched.

At a gesture from her handler, Kim trotted out into the open and went straight to the abandoned clinic. The salvage team watched as the dog made a circuit of the entire building, checking for signs of intruders both machine and human. When she was done, she sat down in front of the door and quietly wagged her tail.

"Clear," Chase whispered.

Sergeant Earhart led the team from cover. The clinic's door was locked, but Guiterez made quick work of it without resorting to kicking it down and risking the machines overhearing. They all slipped into the darkened building and Kim immediately checked the interior out with the same thoroughness she did outside. Once again, it was declared safe. The team made their way to the back of the clinic. There were rows of cages along one wall. Most were empty, but Marcus saw the remains of a few unfortunate house pets that never made it out of there.

They found a door labeled PHARMACY - STAFF ONLY. It too was locked, but was no match for Guiterez's B-and-E skills. Their flashlights revealed shelves loaded with plastic containers and vials of all sizes, all coated in a layer of dust.

"Looks like nobody even thought of this place in all the panic," Chase remarked in a quiet voice. It was the most Marcus ever heard him say.

The sergeant got down to business. "Everybody get out your lists and start loading up. Chase, you and Kim keep watch."

The bearded man nodded and handed over his pack, then took the dog back out to the lobby. The others unshouldered their own packs and started cramming them with whatever they could get off the shelves.

Marcus checked the scrap of paper he took out of his pocket scrawled with words he couldn't even pronounce, let alone figure out what the hell they were for. But knowing what the drugs were wasn't necessary. All he had to do was grab them and bring them back to the base.

Pretty soon everyone's packs were heavier than ever, stuffed to the brim with pills and sealed bottles of liquids of all kinds, along with several boxes of syringes for good measure. Their task done, the team rejoined Chase and his dog in the lobby. They left the clinic and made their way out of town with the same caution as before, avoiding Terminator patrols along the way. Finally, they reached the secluded spot where they'd left their motorcycles.

It couldn't have gone better. Marcus was actually starting to relax when a low growl from Kim caused everyone to tense up. Before they had a chance to wonder what set the dog off, a group of five men appeared, all heavily armed, all with their weapons pointed at them. Marcus recognized Ross, the black man with the scarred face who made his living salvaging supplies for trade, and the big man Ox, who lost to Marcus in an arm wrestling match.

"Wouldn't ya know it," Ross sighed and shook his head, "Me and the boys hear about a vet clinic nobody's touched and the same day we're gonna raid it you all show up to do the deed. Ain't that ironic."

"Sure is," Ox agreed like a good sidekick.

"You don't need to point those guns at us," Earhart stated calmly, "We'd be willing to trade some of the drugs with you."

Ross's smirk twisted the ragged scar across his face. "Tell you what, leave the drugs with us, an we'll let you all go. How's that sound."

"Sounds fair to me," Ox chimed in.

Marcus saw the silencers on all their guns. The distant machines probably wouldn't even notice if they started shooting.

"I think you all had better put down your guns," Ross advised, "And those packs." Grim faced, the salvage team had no choice but to comply. They'd been caught completely off-guard, thinking all the danger was behind them, and now couldn't risk fighting back without getting someone killed.

No sooner did Marcus set his weapons and pack down, then Ox took notice of him and the large man's eyes bugged in recognition. "Shit! Hey, Ross, look who it is!"

The scarred man grinned. "Ain't this a small world? Y'know, since we last saw ya there's been this rumor goin' around that Connor got himself a pet robot. Know anything about that?"

Before Marcus could think up a response, Earhart spoke up. "C'mon, you know nobody hates the machines more than Connor."

Ox closed the distance between him and Marcus, his gun pointed at the center of the other man's forehead. "What'd happen if I knocked you one upside the head? Would ya make a clang noise? _Huh?_" He pressed the muzzle of his weapon into Marcus's skin hard enough to leave an indentation.

Marcus didn't think, he just reacted. The same thing happened when those three men attacked Blair at the abandoned racetrack. Actions he never received training for in his human life sprang up by instinct, combined with reflexes and strength that went beyond human.

In a blur of motion, Marcus grabbed the gun and twisted it out of Ox's grip, breaking several of the man's fingers in the process. His other fist cracked Ox's jaw and sent the large man sprawling in the dirt. Marcus then brought the silenced weapon up and shot down two of Ross's men before they had a chance to react. One died instantly, the other managed to fire his own gun. The bullet punched into Marcus's chest, ricocheted off his metal ribs, and barely missed Ross's arm as it zipped past.

By then other guns were firing, both silenced and otherwise. Marcus spun and found himself looking down the barrel of Ross's weapon. The man's eyes were wide in shock as he took in the wound on Marcus's chest and the glint of exposed metal there. "Holy shit," he gaped, "You _are_ a fuckin' ro-" The side of his head exploded in red mist and he fell to the ground. Marcus turned to see Earhart holding a smoking gun. There was not a trace of remorse in her expression.

The battle was over as suddenly as it began. Ross and two of his men were dead, Ox was unconscious, and the remaining man was gone, having run off at the first sign of trouble. Marcus's side didn't make it through unscathed, either. Earhart was bleeding from a shallow wound on her side, and Chase was lying on the ground with Guiterez crouched over him. The younger corporal was checking for a pulse. Marcus already knew he wasn't going to find one. Chase's eyes had the vacant look they'd all come to know all too well.

Kim sat by her handler's feet, a faint whine issuing from her throat. She pawed at Chase's boot, trying to get some kind of movement from him.

Guiterez sat back on his heels. "He's gone."

A muscle in Earhart's jaw twitched, her only show of emotion. "Take his weapons and pack."

"We're just gonna leave him here?" Marcus asked, incredulous.

The sergeant turned her icy gaze on him. "We don't have time to figure out a way to bring his body with us. The machines probably heard our shots and are on their way to investigate. We gotta move."

She was right. Marcus knew it, but he sure as hell didn't have to like it. Jaws clenched, he grabbed Chase's pack while Guiterez collected the guns and spare ammo. Marcus stuffed the pack into the sidecar of Chase's motorcycle and mounted the bike. As they started up their engines he hesitated, glancing back at their comrade's fallen body and the forlorn dog sitting beside it. Marcus pursed his lips and got off the bike. Ignoring the Earhart's shouts, he scooped up the dog and carried her back to the waiting bike. It was a tight fit in the sidecar with the full pack taking so much room, but Kim gave no sign of protest. Satisfied that she'd stay put, Marcus mounted the bike once again and the salvage team rode off without a backward glance.


	10. Sympathy

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Terminator Salvation_, etc., etc...**

**sym·pa·thy [símpəthee]**

(_plural_ **sym·pa·thies**)

_n_

1. capacity to share feelings: _the ability to enter into, understand, or share somebody else's feelings _

2. feelings caused by sympathy: _the feelings of somebody who enters into or shares another's feelings_

3. sorrow for another's pain: _the feeling or expression of pity or sorrow for the pain or distress of somebody else_

4. inclination to feel alike: _the inclination to think or feel the same as somebody else_

5. agreement: _agreement or harmony with something or somebody else_

6. allegiance or loyalty:_ allegiance or loyalty to a group or cause_

_Resistance base, eight hours later..._

The mission was considered a success, since they brought back everything they were sent for. All the surviving members of the salvage team were debriefed, together and individually. Marcus decided having to answer the same tedious questions hour after hour, not to mention having to relive the incident with Ross and his gang, was the worst part of this whole shitty day. He hated talking about what he did, how easy it was to kill those men, how machine-like he felt then. He even blurted something to that effect at one point and the officer debriefing him surprised him by saying, "Every soldier gets like that. It's the anger, it focuses us. All the other emotions come after, unfortunately all at once. For some of us it's too much."

Marcus found himself gazing in shock at the older gray-haired man who had the look of a career soldier from before Judgment Day. And yet this man had basically just shown him sympathy.

After finally getting released from the debriefing, Marcus went straight to the base's kennels rather than his and Blair's quarters. It wasn't that difficult to locate Kim. She was the only dog in the whole place who wasn't walking around, playing, or barking. She lay curled up in a corner of her pen, dark eyes open and staring apathetically. Her food and water dish lay a short distance from her, their contents apparently untouched. Marcus watched her for a minute before he noticed someone approaching from the corner of his eye. He turned his head just enough to see it was one of the keepers, a young black woman with her hair buzzed close to her scalp. Her stance was casual, but her expression carried a hint of trepidation.

"You Wright?"

Wary, he nodded.

"Thanks for bringin' Kim home. Chase would've appreciated that."

Marcus shrugged. "Couldn't bring his body back. Didn't seem right to leave his dog behind, too."

Sadness clouded the woman's eyes. "Chase was one of our best handlers. He used to train assistance dogs for quadriplegics and such back in the day. He's been Kim's handler since she was a puppy."

That explained Kim's despondency now. "She gonna be okay?" Marcus asked.

The keeper shook her head in uncertainty. "Hard to say. She might get through the grief in a few days, she might not. I've seen dogs who lost their handlers pretty much lay down and die from sadness. It's rare, but it can happen."

"Anything you can do?"

"Not really," she sighed, "There ain't enough keepers to give her the kind of attention she probably needs. We just don't have the time."

It didn't seem right. Marcus didn't bring the mutt safely back just so she could give up now. Too many lives had been wasted already.

"There any rules against keeping dogs in people's quarters?"

The corner of the woman's mouth twitched. "No... Why?"

* * *

Blair was waiting for him in their quarters. The moment he entered, she stood up with the aid of the cane she'd graduated to thanks to her physical therapy. Her eye patch was off, and both eyes widened at the sight of Marcus walking in with both arms full of Kim.

"Y'know, I'd settle for an apology for not waking me this morning," she stated drily, "You didn't hafta get me a dog."

Marcus set Kim down and the mutt promptly headed for the nearest isolated corner to curl up in, showing little or no interest in her surroundings. Marcus unslung a bag from his shoulder that contained Kim's food and water dish along with a couple of days worth of dog food. "She needs looking after."

"And nobody else could do it?" Blair asked, more curious than annoyed.

"The others were gonna just leave her behind," he muttered while arranging the dishes close to where the dog lay and filling them.

Blair limped over and carefully lowered herself until she sat cross-legged on the floor. She set her cane aside and gently scratched Kim behind the ears. The dog didn't react. "First me and now this mutt," she remarked, "You always been the guy who had to take care of everybody?"

Marcus snorted. "Hell no. I didn't even take care of myself." He crouched down beside her. "Guess I'm trying to make up for getting her handler killed."

Blair frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? The whole salvage team would be dead if it wasn't for you."

"Where'd you hear that shit?"

"From your team." Blair nodded at Marcus's look of surprise. "Yeah. They're saying those bandits would've killed them all and taken the meds if you hadn't been there."

Marcus shook his head, unable to believe her.

"Why do you think they asked you to come with them?" Blair insisted, "They were heading into a high-risk area. The last time a salvage team went into a situation like that, none of them made it back. If the machines didn't get them, marauders like the ones you fought probably did. Earhart believed having you along with them would increase their chances of getting back alive, and she was right. You proved yourself out there."

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly, "Connor's pet robot."

Blair punched him in the shoulder hard enough to bruise. Marcus wasn't sure if he was more shocked by this unexpected act, or the fact that she used her damaged right hand.

"Dammit, you can't keep talking like that," she snapped, "You're not like those _things_ out there. You're a human being who makes his own choices. _You_ decided to stick with the Resistance. _You_ decided to drag me out of that battlefield. And _you_ decided to fight for your team. You don't have to prove your worth to anyone, least of all yourself." She glared at him. "So I don't wanna hear any more of that 'pet robot' shit, you got it?"

Marcus stared at her like he was really seeing her for the first time. Then he startled them both by leaning in and kissing her. They'd kissed many times before, but until now Marcus never initiated them. His hand came up to slide his fingers through her dark brown hair and cup the back of her head. When they finally drew apart, Marcus gazed intently into her eyes and murmured, "Thanks."

Blair blinked a couple of times to clear away the pleasure-induced fog from her brain and stammered, "Uh, you're welcome."

Marcus chuckled, got up and took both her hands to help her stand. He looked down at their joined hands, ran his thumbs over her knuckles. "I keep telling myself it'd be better if I pushed away from you."

"Better for who?" Blair asked, her voice subdued.

"For you." He met her eyes. "I don't want you winding up as some kinda pariah for being with me."

Blair freed her left hand from his grip and touched his face. "Why don't you let me decide for myself what's best for me."

Marcus swallowed and nodded. "Okay."

"No more pushing me away?"

"No more pushing away," he agreed.

* * *

_Resistance base, sunrise..._

A memorial service was held for Chase. It was conducted outside, with plenty of guards sent out to keep watch. Marcus was surprised by the turnout. Chase didn't have any family or even close friends. His life centered around the dogs he trained and cared for. Nevertheless, a sizable portion of the base's population attended the service. John Connor himself spoke, and Marcus was impressed by how much the resistance leader knew about Chase. He wondered if Connor made a habit of learning things about everyone under his command, or if he just crammed the details at the last minute. In all honesty, Marcus was betting on the former. It fit with Connor's deep sense of responsibility for all his people.

Earhart and Guiterez took their turns speaking as well. Their speeches were shorter, but no less weighty because of it. Earhart especially had a lot of regret over losing a man. That hadn't happened to her in a long time, and even though the loss was in no way her fault, everyone could tell she felt responsible. It was a burden every leader carried.

Marcus was asked to say some words, but he declined. It didn't feel right speaking about a man he only knew for a few hours. He stood in silence among the other mourners and tried to convince himself nobody was looking at him. Blair's hand squeezing his reassured and centered him. He squeezed her hand back to let her know he was grateful.

The service ended quietly. No 21 gun salute to give away their position. A single trombonist played "Taps" on an old horn while the crowd slowly dispersed. The majority of them went back inside the old mine. There was still work to be done, in spite of these sad circumstances. Marcus was walking, still hand-in-hand with Blair, on his way to the motor pool where he assumed he would return to his old mechanic duties. But he found their way blocked by Sergeant Earhart.

"Wright, I'd like a word with you," she said in her usual dispassionate tone.

Marcus glanced at Blair, who gave him a smile of reassurance. "Alright," he replied cautiously.

"My team's already been assigned a new dog and handler," the sarge informed him, "But I'd like you to join us as well, on a permanent basis."

Marcus didn't even try to hide his astonishment. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious," was Earhart's flat response, "Having you with us gives us an edge. I'll do whatever it takes to increase our chances, and right now that means taking you on. I've already cleared it with Connor."

Marcus had no idea what to say. He never expected something like this. His first impulse was to say no, but he knew it was just his anxiety talking. "This an offer or an order?"

"An offer," the sergeant said, "It's up to you whether or not to accept."

"You need my answer now?"

Earhart shook her head. "There's still time before our next mission. Take a day or two to think it over, then get back to me."

"Okay." He watched the stoic woman walk away, then turned to Blair. "What the hell?"

"You really didn't see that coming?" Blair laughed, "I knew as soon as you all got back she'd be making a request to reassign you to her permanently. I'm betting it was Connor's idea to leave it up to you."

Marcus scowled down at the scuffed toes of his boots as they continued walking through the maze of tunnels. "Should I say yes?"

"It's not my decision."

"I wanna know what you think."

Blair pursed her lips in thought. "I think your work in the motor pool is important. The resistance couldn't function without its vehicles. But I also think that you could accomplish a lot more for us out in the field. Like it or not, you were built to fight, and you're good at it. We need all the fighters we can get." She cast a rueful glance at her cane.

Marcus sighed. "I need to talk it over with Angelo and maybe Milo."

"But you'll give it some real thought," Blair ventured.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

They came to a branch in the tunnel, one leading to the dormitory area where their quarters were, the other leading towards the motor pool. Marcus released Blair's hand and turned to face her. He hesitated, conscious of the other people passing by them, then leaned in to give her a kiss. It was brief, but meaningful, and left Blair with a smile. "I'll see ya later," Marcus said.

"Later," Blair agreed. Then the two of them went their separate ways.

* * *

"Hell yeah, you should say yes!" Milo exclaimed when Marcus asked for his input, "Why the hell 're you even asking me?"

This was not what Marcus expected. He would've thought his friend would show at least a little regret at the tought of the two of them no longer working together. "You eager to get rid of me?" he half-joked.

Milo scoffed, "No, but c'mon, man! Everybody knows you don't really belong here in the dungeon with us grease-monkeys. You should be out there kicking those Terminators' metal asses. It's what we all wanna see from you, not just here, but the whole base."

Marcus blinked. He figured everyone in the base talked about him, but not like that.

Seeing his friend's expression, Milo chuckled and shook his head in amazement. "You don't get it, do you? D'you even know what people say about you?"

"Sure," he grumbled, "That I'm Connor's pet robot."

"Maybe at first," Milo conceded, "but not now. Not after you went back for Blair, and definitely not after what you did for the salvage team."

Marcus finally asked the question he'd been avoiding all this time. "What _are_ people saying about me?"

"You're proof that we can win this war," Milo declared solemnly, "Skynet made you to be the perfect spy, but it couldn't control the part of you that's still human." He tapped the side of his head with his finger for emphasis. "You fought back against all that programming and won. If that ain't proof that humankind stands a chance, I don't know what is. And seeing you squirreling yourself away down here, wasting your talents, is just a tragedy. We need you to fight for us to keep us all going."

This was too much. The idea was absurd. Him, a symbol of hope? "You already got Connor to be your hero."

"And with you on our side, we'll believe in his words even more," Milo countered.

"This is crazy," Marcus ran both hands through his close-cropped hair, "I'm not like that. I'm a car thief and a death-row inmate, for chrissakes!"

Milo chuckled, "And Connor used to hack into ATMs when he was a kid. History's got nothin' to do with today, man."

"I guess not." His breath huffed out of him and he lowered his arms. "I just don't know if I wanna handle that kind of responsibility."

"It's not like you'll be in charge," his friend pointed out, "You'll be workin' under Earhart, right?"

Marcus nodded.

"Then the tough job belongs to her. All you gotta do is follow orders."

"And be humanity's symbol for victory over the machines," Marcus added drily.

"That too," Milo grinned.

Marcus's gaze turned inward for a moment, then he nodded to himself. "I'm gonna go talk to Angelo now."

"Okay." Milo slapped his shoulder. "You take care out there, Number Five."

"Number Five?"

The mechanic rolled his eyes. "_Short Circuit_. God, you really gotta watch more movies!"

"I'll add it to my to-do list." Marcus smiled as he walked away.

Later that afternoon he found Blair in their quarters, trying to coax Kim to eat something from her hand.

"How's she doing?" Marcus asked.

Blair smiled up at him. "She drank some water. There was chicken for lunch today and I brought back some scraps. Figured maybe she'd be more inclined to eat that than dry kibble."

Marcus crouched down beside them and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Any luck so far?"

"Not really," Blair sighed, "How're things with you?"

Marcus took a second to gather his thoughts. "I said yes to Earhart's offer. I'm gonna join her salvage team."

Blair grinned. "I figured you would. You okay with your choice?"

"I don't know." Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "Seems like people are making a lot more out of it than just me helping to fetch supplies."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Apparently, I'm a 'symbol'." There was no missing the sarcasm in his voice.

Blair gently cupped his chin in her hand and lifted his head to meet her eyes. "To me, you're someone who can do a lot of good for the resistance. As a symbol _and_ as a warrior. And when I finally get rid of this damn cane, I'll be fighting right beside you. That's a promise."

Marcus smiled, took her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze before releasing it. He then reached down to pick up a piece of chicken from the dog's bowl and waved it under Kim's nose. "Come on," he coaxed, "We don't get stuff like this everyday. No sense letting good food go to waste."

Kim's nose twitched, but she showed no other reaction.

Marcus stroked her thick fur with his other hand. "C'mon. I know you miss him, but you're not doing Chase's memory any good by starving yourself."

A few more seconds passed before the mutt finally lifted her head and took the proffered meat from the cyborg's hand. As soon as she swallowed, she turned her attention to the rest of the chicken scraps. She ate without the typical enthusiasm of a dog receiving such a treat, but she did eventually empty the bowl.

"See?" Blair grinned at Marcus, "You're inspiring somebody already."

Marcus shook his head with a rueful smile.


	11. Symbiosis

**A/N: **Thanks to **Lopsided Whiskey Grin** for the nice PM. Here's the next chapter. It kinda breezes through the next few months of the story, but the next chapter's gonna start a new adventure for our favorite couple. Also, things heat up a bit between Blair and Marcus. Nothing graphic, but a hint of what's to come. ;-)

**Disclaimer: _Terminator Salvation_, Marcus, Blair, and any other recognizable characters from the movie do not belong to me.**

**sym·bi·o·sis [sìm bī ṓssiss, sìmbee ṓssiss]**

(_plural_ sym·bi·o·ses [sìm bī ṓ seèz])

_n_

1. close association of animals or plants: _a close association of animals or plants of different species that is often, but not always, of mutual benefit_

2. mutually beneficial relationship: _a cooperative, mutually beneficial relationship between two people or groups _

_Resistance Base, five months later..._

It didn't take long for Marcus do get used to this new way of life. Most salvage ops were achieved without incident, a few required some tricky getaways, and a handful of times the team found themselves fighting for their lives, both from machines and other, less scrupulous humans. There were injuries, minor and major, and once they lost a dog to a grenade, but so far there were no other fatalities in the team. This was due in part to Marcus. Whenever there was an especially dangerous task that had to be done, he always stepped up before Earhart even had to glance his way. It was what he was there for, after all. Better he take the hits than his frailer teammates. He never developed close relationships with any of them, but he had their complete trust, and they always had his back. A fact that was proven two months into his new career as a salvager. Marcus found himself caught in a deadly fight with two hulking T-600s. He defeated them, barely, but his left leg was so heavily damaged he couldn't walk on it. The rest of the team refused to leave him behind, even though he slowed them down and put them at greater risk of getting caught by more machines. They dragged him all the way back to the base where the eggheads in HQ who spent their lives studying and disassembling captured Terminators were able to fix him up to fighting condition once again.

Marcus was surprised to discover that he was becoming less inclined to hide his differences as time passed. Not as if everybody didn't already know, he reasoned. He no longer bothered to carry food rations on missions, since he never really needed them. He didn't try to cover up the wounds that exposed his metal underpinnings, unless there were strangers present. He even laughed whenever someone cracked a robot joke, because he knew there was no malice towards him. He started learning everyone's names, started pausing in the corridors to engage in casual conversation, started feeling like he wasn't such an outsider after all.

Once or twice a week he and Blair ate dinner with Milo's and Tabitha's family. Those evenings were always full of good times, laughing, talking, and playing with the kids. Tabitha's pregnancy advanced without complication. Marcus was surprised by the level of energy she maintained despite the increasing load she carried.

Blair, too, underwent a transformation in the ensuing months. She worked at her physiotherapy with unrelenting determination, trying to get her leg back in top condition as well as improving the dexterity of her disfigured hand. Her right eye gradually regained almost thirty percent of its vision, which was better than Kate Connor expected. Once the doctor cleared her for it, Blair started spending time at the shooting range. Even with her compromised eyesight, weeks of practice enabled her to regain most of her accuracy.

She didn't stop there, though. She took Kim with her to the kennels and managed to wangle some time with one of the trainers. He taught Blair the various commands to use on Kim, and also how to interpret the dog's unique body language for any given situation. The trainer told Blair she was a natural dog handler. She developed a bond with the dog and Kim's depression lifted under her attention. There was rarely a time when she wasn't seen at Blair's side. They became so attuned to each other some said it was almost like telepathy. Just like it was with Chase.

Five months after Marcus joined Earhart's team, Blair put in a request to join them as Kim's handler. When she told Marcus, his reaction wasn't quite what she expected.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Blair's head jerked up. She was seated on the edge of her cot, untying her boots before getting into bed. The look she gave him was incredulous. "What're you talking about?"

Marcus pursed his lips. "Couples and family members don't usually work together."

"There's no rule against it."

"Yeah, but it ain't encouraged either," he countered, "C'mon, Blair, we both know there's a good reason for it. People don't always make the right decisions when they're too busy worrying if they'll put the person they care about in danger."

Blair stood, putting herself almost level with his gaze. "Are you saying you don't want me on your team?"

Marcus sighed. "I'm saying I don't wanna spend every mission worrying about you. It doesn't mean I don't think you got what it takes. I just won't be able to help myself."

Blair frowned, though she seemed to listen well enough not to let her temper rise. "What about me?"

Marcus blinked in confusion.

"How do you think I feel," she continued, "every time you go off on a salvage op and leave me behind? You're not unbreakable, Marcus. If something happened to you out there...I'd never stop wondering if things might've gone different with me there to watch your back."

Marcus's expression softened. He reached out and took both her hands in his, noting with some relief that Blair no longer shied from letting him hold her damaged right hand. "If your request's okayed, we'll give it a shot. But you know if there's any problem Earhart 'll transfer your ass right back out."

"There won't be any problem," Blair grinned and twined her arms around his neck, "We're already the perfect team."

Marcus smirked. He rested his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. "You ready for bed?"

Blair's grin broadened. They switched off the lanterns used to light their chamber, then climbed into Marcus's bed. There was a rustle of cloth and a few minutes later their breathing grew heavier.

This aspect of their relationship had been a gradual buildup. It started with Marcus waking some nights to Blair curled up beside him. He found he liked having here there with him, and after a while he asked if they really needed the second cot. So they got rid of it. Over time they graduated to kisses and tentative caresses. They started craving more contact between them, until they reached a level of intimacy Marcus never thought they'd ever achieve.

They didn't make love. Marcus still wasn't able to go that far. But they did other things together with hands and mouths, skin against bare skin. Blair's panting turned into moans while Marcus whispered encouragement. Finally, there was a brief cry, then husky laughter. Blair always laughed after she climaxed. All those endorphins swimming through her.

Marcus rolled onto his back, pulling Blair along so she lay with her head on his chest. She listened to his strong heart gradually slow from their activities. Her favorite sound.

"You okay?" Marcus asked, wondering at her silence. He felt her nod.

"I just wish..."

"I know." He kissed her hair. She told him more than once how she wished he got something out of these intimate moments. Marcus tried to explain that it was enough knowing how much pleasure he could bring her. He didn't need anything more, as long as she was happy.

* * *

_Resistance Base, two days later..._

Skynet built its armies of Terminators, Harvesters, and Hunter-Killers in vast factories scattered throughout the world. Some factories, however were specialized. There were factories devoted specifically to creating the nuclear cels used to power the machines, factories which manufactured the interface chips that linked every individual unit to Skynet, and factories dedicated to assembling the delicate and complex devices that were the Terminators' artificial brains. All of these specialized items were shipped to other facilities in heavily armored, heavily armed airborne vessels that were all but impossible for the Resistance to take down. And if they somehow did succeed in shooting one of these flying armored cars from the sky, the ships were equipped with self-destruct devices so that their cargo could not be taken and used by Skynet's enemies.

Still, once in a great while, the Resistance got lucky.

The day after Blair's request to join Earhart's salvage team was approved, one such cargo ship suffered a one-in-a-trillion malfunction in its cognitive systems and crashed down in the vast wasteland of California. Its distress beacon failed to initiate, as did its self-destruct protocol. The vessel was essentially braindead.

Two Resistance fighter jets out on patrol spotted the downed ship and immediately notified HQ of this miraculous find. Connor and his people knew they only had a small window in which to take advantage. It was only a matter of time before Skynet used the vessel's last known whereabouts to triangulate its current position. They had to act fast.

Sergeant Earhart's team was called in along with several other salvage teams for a quick briefing. Connor informed them of the crashed cargo vessel and the plan to acquire at least some of its contents for the Resistance. The advanced technology would prove invaluable in learning more about the machine's weaknesses, as well as cannibalizing for their own use.

"You will be airlifted to the crash site," Connor said, "There you will find a way into the vessel and collect as much of its cargo as you can. You will then fall back and let the demo team do their work." The demolition team's task was to set off a powerful explosion which would hopefully convince the machines that the ship's self-destruct actually went off. That way Skynet would be unaware that the Resistance got hold of some of its technology. If it did know, it would no doubt make alterations which would render any advantages the Resistance gained moot.

Blair shared a rueful look with Marcus. It figured that her first mission with the team required leaving Kim behind. "Least I get to fly again," she said.

Marcus smiled, but she could see the concern in his expression. She gave his knee a squeeze. "I'm not gonna get all weepy once we're in the air," she insisted. She'd made peace with this turn in her life. She did expect some bittersweet emotions during the airlift, but nothing she wouldn't be able to handle.

"I don't want any heroics on this mission," Connor warned, "First sign of any machine activity, you cut and run. Everybody comes back alive from this, understood?"

"Yes sir!" every voice in the room called out, including (to his dismay) Marcus's.

The salvage teams set out with a deep sense of purpose. Geared up and armed, they rushed out to the waiting gunships. The massive helicopters' rotors stirred up a hurricane wind that battered the approaching men and women. Marcus and Blair kept their heads low as they powered their way through the gale to the vessel. Marcus resisted the impulse to reach out and grab Blair's hand to help her along. He knew she'd only shake him off and probably glare at him.

For her part, Blair half-wished he would try to help. She could've used the reassurance. The closer she got to the gunship, the tighter her throat felt. It was hard for her, knowing she wouldn't be the one in the pilot's seat. Trusting her life to someone else's flight skills. It wasn't easy.

Seated inside the helicopter, watching the ground recede beneath them, Marcus felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Blair gazing out at the landscape, her eyes shining with barely contained tears. He reached out and took her hand in a firm grip. "I'm a nervous flyer," he yelled over the noise of the rotors.

Blair smiled in gratitude at his thin excuse and spent the rest of the flight clutching his hand.


	12. Endure

**A/N:** Just so you know, I know next to nothing about radiation sickness. I suppose I could've researched it, but I decided to focus more on the drama than medical accuracy.

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.**

**en·dure [in dóor, en dóor]**

**(**_past_** en·dured, **_past participle_** en·dured, **_present participle_** en·dur·ing, **_3rd person present singular _**en·dures) **

_v_

1. bear hardship: _to experience exertion, pain, or hardship without giving up_

2. tolerate disagreeable things: _to tolerate or accept somebody or something that is extremely disagreeable (formal)_

3. survive: _to last or survive over a period of time, especially when faced with difficulties_

_Cargo transport crash site, same day..._

They arrived at the crash site quicker than Marcus expected. But then, time was of the essence. All but one of the gunships landed, the holdout remaining airborne to provide cover and warn them of approaching machines. The salvage teams poured out of the helicopters and rushed towards the downed vessel. The cargo ship was much smaller than the transports used to ferry human prisoners, about the size of a single train car. It had the thickest armor anyone had ever seen. So thick it required six powerful jet engines to carry its mass high above the ground. When the ship impacted, it dug a furrow nearly eight feet deep and left its entire nose section buried under a pile of earth. Lucky for the humans, the cargo hatch was situated in the aft. All they had to do was figure out how to open the damn thing.

One of the tech wizzes normally holed up in HQ volunteered her services for this op. Marcus could tell just by looking at her that she wasn't a grunt. Her body was soft from lack of constant labor. She was a black woman in her mid-thirties who wore her curly hair as an inch-thick cap on her head and wire-rimmed glasses that looked way too delicate for these environs. She carried a bulky laptop that had been customized beyond all recognition and wasted no time finding an access port on the vessel to plug into.

This was the only way. The ship's armor was far too thick to cut through in a reasonable amount of time. Although the vessel's higher computer functions had ceased, the tech believed enough of its secondary systems still functioned for her to hack into and get the hatch to open. Everyone waited, hands tense on their weapons and eyes scanning the horizons for danger, while the tech focused intently on her computer. Less than three agonizing minutes later, the woman grinned in triumph as a metallic groan announced the hatch's opening.

Nobody wasted their breath with cheering, though several people did thump the tech on the shoulder in passing as they hurried into the ship's dark interior. There were no lights inside, which wasn't a surprise since machines had no need for such things. The first men and women who entered peered through their night-vision scopes in search of possible threats, such as a security system or even Terminator guards. There was nothing, however. Either the machines didn't bother with internal security for these vessels, or it ceased to function along with the rest of the ship. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, the lead soldiers cracked a few glowsticks to provide some light.

A narrow aisle ran down the center of the cargo area, and on each side row upon row of shelves contained dozens of crates. Most of these had stayed in place, but the crash knocked quite a few of the crates askew and a couple had even tumbled onto the floor. One of these unfortunates had busted open, scattering its contents across the floor. They looked like nothing more than transparent glass squares, each about a quarter-inch to a side and wafer-thin.

"What are they?" Marcus asked.

Guiterez, who was directly in front of him, responded, "Data storage crystals. There's one of these inside every Terminator's head. Everything they see, everything they experience, everything they learn, it all gets stored on that one tiny sliver. These things hold a phenomenal amount of info."

"They seem kinda fragile," Marcus remarked as he heard a telltale crunch beneath his boots.

"Not once they're lodge inside some robot's metal skull," Guiterez countered, "This is a good find. Command's always bitching about not having enough memory storage for all their intel. Gotta keep writing shit down and hope it doesn't get lost or shredded before they have a chance to back it up. These crystals are gonna make a big difference."

Marcus shrugged. Who was he to argue over whether this stuff was worth the risk?

They quickly worked out a system where those inside passed the crates down the narrow aisle to others waiting outside to carry them to the waiting helicopters. Each crate was large and heavy enough to require two people to carry - except Marcus, who was able to carry two of the crates on his own, one stacked atop the other. He could've carried more without any trouble, but he needed to be able to see where the hell he was going.

There was no way they'd be able to salvage everything. It would have taken longer than they were willing to risk. They would grab what they could in an acceptable amount of time, then destroy the rest. So, after ten minutes of frantic relaying, the commanding officers ordered everyone away from the cargo vessel and the demolition team rushed in to do their part. Once the high explosives were set and ready to blow, everyone scrambled aboard the helicopters and took off. As soon as they were safely airborne, the explosives were remotely detonated.

As explosions went, Marcus felt, it wasn't as impressive as the one that destroyed Skynet Central. Still, it was nothing to sneeze at, considering it caused that thickly armored vehicle to fly apart like a cheap toy stuffed with fireworks. What the hell did those demo guys use on that thing, anyway?

Marcus felt a thump on his shoulder and turned to see Blair's grinning face. He grinned back. Their first mission together went off without a hitch. They were headed home with their stolen cargo, not a machine in sight. Marcus looked out through the open side of the gunship at the passing vista below, not keeping an eye out for danger, just enjoying the view. It was then that something caught his eye. He frowned and squinted while his enhanced vision zoomed to bring whatever he saw into sharper focus. Marcus tensed. "There's people down there!" he shouted over the helicopter's rotors.

"What?" Earhart yelled back. Marcus wasn't sure if it was surprise or because she really didn't hear him.

He pointed. "There! Two o'clock!"

The sergeant pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered in the direction he indicated. She lowered them a second later, her lips pursed. "I make out four!"

Marcus nodded agreement. His gaze stayed riveted on the distant figures. It was impossible even for him to tell what gender they were from this distance. What he could tell was that they were raggedly thin and not so much running as staggering after the passing gunships, waving their arms above their heads in an effort to get their attention.

"Think it might be a trap?" Blair asked.

Marcus shook his head. He didn't think so. Those figures didn't move like machines, and bandits wouldn't be stupid enough to try and lure a whole formation of armed helicopters to them. More likely they were a small group of refugees begging for help.

"What do we do, Sarge?" Marcus shouted.

Earhart put on a headset to confer with the commanding officers in the lead gunship. After a moment she shook her head. "We keep going! Can't risk the mission on just four people!"

The muscles of Marcus's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. He understood the logic behind the decision, but he damn well didn't have to like it. He watched the running figures get smaller and smaller the farther they got. He saw three of the refugees stumble to a halt as they got too tired or gave up, but the last one kept going. Kept waving his or her arms and probably yelling at the receding 'copters, pleading for some kind of help.

Marcus looked at Blair, saw the same mixture of anger and pity that he felt. It was then that Marcus did something he never would've even considered a few months ago. He was not at all surprised when Blair did the same.

Earhart was startled by the pair's request and probably would have argued against it if her shrewd eyes hadn't taken in the determination in their expressions. She spoke over the headset with the officers again. For a moment she became quite heated, but finally she and those in charge reached an agreement.

There were emergency rations and water aboard the gunship. Marcus and Blair loaded up on these supplies, as well as extra ammo for their weapons. Their helicopter broke formation just long enough to lower a couple of zip lines. No sooner did Blair's and Marcus's boots touch the ground than the 'copter took off to rejoin the convoy.

Marcus stared after the retreating gunships and it finally hit home what he'd gotten himself into. He volunteered. He told Earhart he'd go back for the refugees himself and lead them on foot back to base. It was crazy! And Blair went right along with him.

He turned to her. "What the hell 're we doing?"

She smiled. "Following our consciences, I guess."

"Damn it," Marcus heaved a sigh, "Let's go." They had several miles to backtrack before they met up with the refugees, assuming they were still around once they got there.

* * *

_California wasteland, four hours later..._

They traveled at a steady jog, a ground-eating pace which Blair was able to maintain for longer periods of time. Marcus could've gone even longer. He was, literally, tireless when it came to physical effort. He remembered the time he crossed the desert not long after waking in the ruins of the lab where he was constructed. In retrospect, he knew he must have traveled non-stop for days, yet it didn't occur to him at the time that it was strange how he never needed to stop for a rest. He couldn't blame it all on Skynet's programming, there was a lot of denial on his part as well. He must have known even then. There must have been the tiniest suspicion way in the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right with him.

There was no denial now, though. He sweated like Blair, but that was it. When they paused for a break, Marcus's breathing and heart rate were the same as before they started their journey. Blair, on the other hand, was panting heavily and all he had to do was look at her neck to see her racing pulse. Still, she was doing a hell of a lot better than he would have when he was human.

Blair took a drink from her canteen. She swirled the liquid around in her mouth before letting it trickle down her throat. Marcus couldn't help but think there was a sensual edge to her actions. Then again, just about everything she did had a sensual undertone, at least in his eyes.

"You ready?" he asked.

She threw him a challenging look. "'Fraid I can't keep up?"

Marcus smirked. They continued their run.

The sun was past its zenith when Marcus saw the four figures in the distance. They seemed to be walking towards him and Blair, but very slowly. He doubted the refugees even saw them. They were just following the direction the 'copters went. They shambled along with their heads down. They didn't even notice the two Resistance fighters approach until the scuff of their boots finally got their attention.

Marcus tried to keep his expression neutral. He really did. Up close the four strays were in worse shape than he imagined. Scarecrow-thin and dressed in rags, two of them barefoot, one wearing shoes obviously too big. What little hair they possessed was thin and wispy. Every bit of exposed skin was covered in grime and open sores. A faint breeze brought a decaying stench from them that made Marcus want to recoil.

"Better keep your distance," he murmured to Blair, "They might be contagious."

She shook her head. "They're not. I've seen it before. Radiation poisoning."

Marcus felt his artificial stomach clench. The wasteland was riddled with radioactive pockets, which was why they carried a Geiger counter. These poor souls weren't so lucky. They had nothing, no equipment, no supplies, not even weapons. How were they still alive?

The one in the lead, a man whose left eye was milky with cataracts, lifted a feeble hand either in greeting or entreaty. "You Resistance?"

Blair nodded and introduced herself and Marcus. "We saw you from our gunship," she said, "We both volunteered to come back for you and lead you back to base."

The man's face twisted in an approximation of a smile. "Don't think all of us 're gonna make it on foot. We was hopin' one of the helicopters 'd take us."

"I'm sorry," Blair said with regret, "We were returning from a mission. None of the 'copters could be spared."

The man nodded in understanding. "I'm Lou," he gestured to the others behind him, "That there's my cousin Ned, his wife Alice, and our friend Jonah."

"Got any water?" Ned asked. He put an arm around the thin shoulders of his wife, who was shivering and staring down at the ground.

Blair nodded. "We brought food, too."

Their teeth were barely staying in their gums, so they had to soak the rations into mush before they scooped it into their mouths. Marcus kept silent the whole time he watched them eat. He didn't know what to say to them. He felt like anything he said would only add to the sense of futility. These people were dying and they knew it. It seemed the only thing that kept them going was the thought of finding the Resistance, for whatever reason.

Lou, who seemed to be the de facto leader of this tiny group, told their story. "We were livin' in what was left of our hometown, down in the basements. We dug tunnels to connect 'em all, so we hardly ever had to come above. We was pretty safe from the machines. Laid low, kept outta sight. Only trouble was gettin' enough food and water. Couldn't grow nothing in the shit-poor dirt we had. Had to go out and scrounge for what we needed. Then we got sloppy," he fell silent for a moment, "One of them Hunter-Killers spotted us. Started droppin' bombs all over the settlement. Only about eight of us got out. Didn't have a damn thing on us but the clothes we wore. No food, no water. Couple of us went off to find some and never came back. Then we decided to try and find the Resistance." He snorted. "Knew it was hopeless, but what the hell else were we gonna do? Just lay down and die?"

For a second, a glimmer of determination shone in the four refugees' eyes and Marcus could imagine the kind of people they used to be. People who managed to survive with practically nothing while living in holes in the ground. People like that didn't give up easily, no matter the odds against them.

"We picked a direction and just kept walkin'," Lou continued, "Don't know how long, weeks maybe. Then we started getting' sick. Wasn't long before we figured out we got radiation sickness. Always been a risk for that out here." He shrugged, as if it were no more than a case of bad weather. Oh well, what can you do? "We lost May first. Then Tomas died a coupla days ago. There's just us now."

There was a long silence while everyone processed this. Then Blair said, "The base is a couple of days hike from here. We'll guide you there, if you're still willing to try."

Another shrug. "Not like we got other plans," Lou smiled weakly.

* * *

_California wasteland, nightfall and the following day..._

The journey was agonizingly slow. The refugees barely managed a slow shuffle when they walked, and had to rest often. But they kept going all the same. Marcus was amazed by this. He kept expecting them to collapse at any moment, but they never did. They continued despite the pain, the wasting sickness, and the knowledge of their fast-approaching end.

He and Blair made camp as evening set in. They soaked more rations in water and warmed the food over a fire kept low to reduce the risk of detection. Blair ate as well, but Marcus didn't touch any of the food. He wasn't going to waste any supplies just to maintain the semblance of being human. If the refugees noticed his fasting, they kept it to themselves.

Marcus kept watch while the others bedded down. He'd promised to wake Blair in a few hours, but he ended up staying awake the entire night. The weariness he felt wouldn't be eased by sleep.

When morning came, Alice didn't wake. She lay on her side, curled up in a fetal position. Her husband had lain behind her with his arm around her waist. Now he sat beside her unmoving form, staring at her ravaged, peaceful face.

"I didn't even know she'd died," Marcus said in a quiet voice.

Blair touched his arm. "There's nothing you could've done for her."

Marcus drew away from her. "That's not the point," he grated.

Wordlessly, the remaining three refugees started digging a grave, using nothing but their hands. Blair and Marcus quickly stepped in and used their knives to chop through the hard soil. Soon they had a grave dug and gently lowered Alice's body into it. No one said anything as they covered her. Soon a fresh mound was all that marked her passing. Ned sat down beside it and rested his hand on the disturbed soil.

"We need to move out," Blair intoned solemnly. Lou nodded and beckoned to the others. Jonah made to follow, but Ned didn't move from where he sat. He met the others' questioning looks and said simply, "Think I'll stay here a while."

Blair opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it and nodded. If Ned wanted to spend his last moments by his wife's grave, that was his choice.

None of them looked back as they continued their journey. No one had the heart to watch as Ned's slumped figure receded into the distance.

The weariness Marcus felt only seemed to grow as the hours passed. Every time he saw Lou or Jonah stumble, every time one of them coughed, or when they vomited up their last meal and acted like they didn't see the blood mixed in with the half-digested food. Marcus felt a weight on his chest that got heavier with each of these incidents.

Late in the afternoon Lou tripped and fell to his hands and knees. Marcus couldn't take the sight of the man trying to muster the energy to stand again. He went over and scooped the fallen man up in his arms like he was nothing more than a child and continued walking. Lou was a proud man, so the fact that he didn't protest showed just how far gone he really was. Marcus could have easily carried a healthy two hundred pound man without any trouble; carrying Lou was like toting an armload of twigs. It felt that way, too. Nothing but frail bones. After a while Lou rested his head on Marcus's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Daylight was waning when Blair finally called a halt for the night. Jonah immediately sat down with a sigh while she started gathering dead brush for a fire. It took a minute for her to notice that Marcus was still standing there, holding Lou in his arms. She walked over to him and met his gaze, then reached out to touch the side of Lou's neck. The second her fingertips touched his skin and felt how cold he was, she knew. Marcus didn't meet her eyes then.

He'd known the second it happened, but kept walking all the same. He couldn't do anything else, couldn't bring himself to tell them that Lou died hours ago.

* * *

_Resistance base, late the following morning..._

Jonah didn't eat anything that night or the next morning. He tried drinking some water, but it came up a little while later, tinged pink. He never made a sound, aside from a few quiet whimpers, despite the fact that he must have been in terrible pain. Marcus carried him, and he and Blair were able to make better time that way. In a few hours they saw the abandoned mine in the distance, then reached the outskirts of the minefield. The safety path was wider than in previous minefields, to avoid a repeat of Marcus's mishap the last time he tried to walk through.

There was a small crowd waiting for them at the entrance to the mine. John and Kate Connor were among them. When Marcus and Blair approached, Jonah looked up from Marcus's arms and asked Connor, "This the Resistance?"

It was the first time he'd spoken, and Marcus was shocked to realize from his voice that Jonah was just a kid, probably no older than Kyle.

Connor nodded in response to his question. "Yes it is."

The boy's eyes lit up in his sore-covered face. "Dad was gonna let me join," he murmured dreamily, "Next year, after my birthday."

"I think you're old enough to join us now, son," Connor said without a trace of condescension.

They took him to a private room in the infirmary. There Kate and her nurses cut away the rags he wore, washed him with infinite care, then dressed him in a clean hospital gown. On top of this, Kate and her husband helped Jonah into a coat with the red Resistance patch sewn onto the left arm. Jonah kept smiling and touching the patch until exhaustion mixed with the painkiller Kate administered finally caused him to drift into sleep.

Connor remained at Jonah's side, while Blair sat on the other side of the bed, holding the boy's hand. Kate continued to watch her patient's vitals while the heart monitor beeped steadily. Marcus thought it sounded like a countdown. He stood in a corner of the room, away from the others, yet watching it all. The look on Jonah's sleeping face could only be described as content. His heart continued to beat, one pulse after another, neither slowing nor faltering. As the minutes drifted into hours, Marcus found himself counting these beats.

...127...212...250...

How much longer could it go? How many beats did this kid's heart have left in it?

...345...400...438...

Was it still the boy's heartbeats Marcus was counting, or his own? He wasn't sure.

...521...602...

630

* * *

Marcus didn't go to the funeral. He stayed in his quarters with a bottle of the corrosive substance that came out of the local stills. Probably de-greasing his insides with every swallow, he mused. He sat on the floor with his back against his bed. Kim lay curled up beside him and every once in a while he gave her a scratch behind the ears.

"How come you're not with Blair?" he asked at one point.

The dog glanced at him with soulful brown eyes, then flicked an ear and returned to her dozing. Marcus shrugged and took another swig from the bottle.

Blair entered the chamber a few minutes later. Kim immediately perked up and trotted over to her. A tired smile graced Blair's features as she knelt to give the dog a hug. "There's my girl." A moment later she stood, walked over to where Marcus sat, and seated her self beside him. Marcus noticed her eyes were red-rimmed.

"They buried him in the coat," she said, her voice subdued. She took the bottle from Marcus's unresisting fingers and swallowed a mouthful of its contents. She grimaced. "Ugh. This shit'll eat a hole in my stomach." She set the bottle down on the floor an arm's length from her.

Marcus rubbed a hand across his scalp. The bristles of his close-cropped hair rasped against his palm. "I keep thinking it was all pointless."

"What do you mean?" Blair asked.

Marcus stared at the toes of his boots. "We didn't save 'em. There wasn't anything we could do for them. None of it made any difference. They were already dead."

Blair regarded his haggard profile. "So, if you'd known they were dying back on the gunship, are you saying you wouldn't have made the same choice to go back for them?"

Marcus chewed his lower lip for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. "No, I guess I still would've done it."

"We did make a difference, y'know," she threaded her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, "We gave them a little hope. Sometimes that's the only thing that keeps us going. The hope for something better."

Marcus turned his head until his cheek brushed her hair. He wasn't sure what kept him going, except maybe Blair. Mostly, he supposed, it was because no matter how shitty things got, a stubborn part of him always had to hold on. Problem was, he didn't think that alone was enough for him anymore.

"I love you, Blair," he murmured, startled by the fact that it came out so easily.

Blair smiled and absently wiped her eye. "I love you, too."


	13. Afraid

**A/N:** This is kind of a short-ish chapter. Sort of a lead-in for what's coming up. FYI, next update the Rating WILL BE CHANGED TO M. Don't say I didn't warn ya!

**Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this. It's just a fanfic.**

**a·fraid [ə fráyd]**

_adj_

1. frightened: _frightened or apprehensive about something_

2. reluctant: _feeling hesitation or disinclination toward something_

3. regretful: _regretful that something is or is not the case_

_Resistance base, motor pool, evening the following day..._

The wrench jockeys in the motor pool finished yet another busy day by heading straight for the nearest jury-rigged bar to unwind. It was little more than an alcove, furnished in mismatched chairs and tables cobbled together from cable spools and metal panels. The "bar" itself was a stack of old crates behind which an enterprising couple served a variety of homebrews and moonshines out of re-used liquor bottles. The placed reeked of sweat, engine grease, and the cutting scent of too-strong alcohol, and the air rang with loud conversation and raucous laughter through which the strummings of a guitar player sitting in an isolated corner could barely be heard.

Milo was seated at one such overcrowded table shooting the breeze with some of his coworkers while drinking mugs of a beer-like substance, the origins of which were probably best left a mystery. He noticed a familiar figure wending its way towards him through the close-packed bar and called out with a grin, "Hey, Tin Man! Ya miss hangin' out with us lowly grease monkeys?" He waved him closer. "C'mon, lemme get you a beer. Or whatever the hell this shit is."

Marcus approached as Milo cajoled the others at the table to make some room and the cyborg wedged himself into the newly available space. Soon a foam-topped mug was placed in front of him and he sipped absently while seeming to join in with the conversation. Milo noticed his friend's heart really wasn't in it, though. Marcus was preoccupied with something that he wasn't willing to share in front of an audience. A few minutes later Milo pried himself away with the excuse of getting home before Tabitha sent out a search party. He nodded to Marcus, who followed without a word.

The quiet of the tunnels was almost shocking to the ears after the constant din they left behind. Neither man said anything as they strode down the dimly-lit corridor. Milo tucked his hands into the pockets of his coveralls and kicked a loose pebble on the floor. It skittered ahead and disappeared from sight. Finally, Milo said, "The doc tried that new sonogram the eggheads cobbled together. Damn thing works like a charm. Me and Tabs saw the baby so clear, we already know it's gonna take after her in the looks department, thank god. We're still not sure if we're gonna go with Cody or Joel for the name-"

"I told Blair I love her yesterday," Marcus blurted, his eyes riveted to the floor ahead of him.

Milo took a second to ponder this revelation. "What'd she say?"

"She said she loves me back."

"You believe her? I mean, you don't think she was just humoring you?"

Marcus shook his head. "She meant it."

Milo nodded in thought. "Did _you_ mean it?"

"Yeah," his friend muttered.

"So...what's the problem?"

The silence stretched between them for a moment, then Milo sighed and said, "Look, I never had much patience with Twenty Questions, plus I'm kinda tired right now, so why don't you just cut to the chase and tell me what all the brooding's about."

Marcus pursed his lips. "Saying that to her...it made it _real_, y'know? Now I...I just don't know if I can handle any of it."

"Any of what?"

"She keeps saying what we got now is enough, but I don't think that's true," Marcus said in growing agitation, "I mean, right now everything's good, but what happens when she finally gets tired of it? She'll get frustrated, then she'll get angry, then she's gonna think maybe it's her and it's not, but she won't believe me 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't believe me in her place-"

"What the hell 're you talking about?" a baffled Milo interrupted.

Marcus sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "We've never..."

"What? Spit it out, for chrissake."

"I can't get it up," Marcus snapped.

Milo paused mid-step, causing his friend to pull ahead a couple of paces until he realized he was going alone and stopped as well.

"Wait," the mechanic pointed a black-stained finger at Marcus, "You're sayin' after all this time you and Blair _still_ haven't bumped uglies?"

Marcus grimaced and shook his head.

"At all?"

"Well...we've done stuff..." Marcus felt like nothing more than an awkward teenager having "the talk" with his dad.

Milo stared at him in amazement. "Damn. She really _does_ love you."

The two of them continued walking. After a couple of minutes, Milo asked, "So, d'you think it's something Skynet did to you?"

"It's what I thought at first," Marcus confessed, "But the more I thought about it, the more I think it the problem might be up here." He tapped the side of his head with a fingertip.

Milo snorted. "I know how that is."

Marcus threw him an incredulous look. "Seriously? This from a guy with a whole soccer team's worth of kids."

"Hey, we've had our dry spells, just like any other couple. Turns out war can be pretty damn stressful," he grumbled. "So, what do you think the problem is? Issues about your humanity and all that crap?"

Marcus shook his head. "At first, maybe. Now, though...I think it's because I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Of hurting her."

It was Milo's turn to look incredulous. Defensive, Marcus held out his hands and declared, "I can lift _cars_, Milo!"

"Yeah, and you've also played with my kids. None of 'em are worse for wear."

"That's different." Marcus scowled at the ground. "I was in control then."

The mechanic frowned in thought. "What's Blair got to say about it?"

"We don't talk about it."

"Maybe you should. Keepin' quiet obviously hasn't done you a damn bit of good. Maybe you and Blair oughta work it out together."

Marcus was more than a little doubtful. "I don't see how talking about it's gonna make it any better."

"Women talk about things all the time," Milo shrugged, "Seems to work for them."

Marcus chewed his lip. "I dunno if I _can_ talk about it with her."

"Well, then, you're screwed."

"No I'm not," Marcus smirked, "That's the problem."

The two of them chuckled over the weak joke, then Milo lightly punched his friend's shoulder. "Talk it out with her, man. Least then you can say you tried."

They'd reached the branch in the tunnel where they would go their separate ways. Marcus watched Milo disappear down the branch that would lead to the family quarters before turning away to follow the other tunnel's path. He approached his and Blair's chamber just as a couple of guys were exiting, each supporting one end of Blair's cot. Marcus had to squeeze up against the wall of the tunnel to let them pass. When he entered the chamber, he found Blair standing in the empty space where her cot used to be. Kim was lying in her usual corner, curled up on a threadbare cushion with her food and water dishes nearby. She raised her head as Marcus entered and wagged her tail in greeting. Marcus patted the dog's head in passing and went to stand in front of Blair.

"Forgot to pay off a loan?" he asked.

Blair smiled at his attempt at humor. "New recruits have been coming in. I figured one of them could use the cot. It's not like we really need two beds. Most nights I end up sleeping with you anyway." She shrugged.

"Makes sense."

She closed the small distance between them and wound her arms around his waist. Marcus smiled and rested his hands on the small of her back. He stared at her brown eyes and once again found it hard to believe that one of them was almost blind. Its gaze seemed just as clear.

"Uh oh," Blair said in a half-joking tone.

"What?"

She tilted her head. "You've got that look that says you're working up the nerve to tell me something I'm not gonna like."

Marcus looked away for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "I meant what I said yesterday," he told her, "I love you. That's what makes this so hard."

_Oh, god, he's breaking up with me_, was Blair's first panicked thought. She unconsciously tightened her hold on him while schooling her features into a semblance of calm. Marcus must have sensed her worry, though, because he started rubbing her back in soothing circles.

"I wanna be with you," he continued, "I wanna make love with you. But I'm afraid to."

"Why?"

His smile was touched with sadness. "I know you think of me as human, but I'm not. Not really." He pulled her snugly against him. "All I'd have to do is squeeze a little tighter, and I'd break your back. I wouldn't even hafta try that hard."

Blair's calm gaze didn't waver. "You won't hurt me."

"Not on purpose."

"Never," she insisted. She lifted both hands to cradle his face. "It's okay to let yourself go, baby. I'm not afraid of you. I know you'll never hurt me. I _know_ it." She smiled tenderly. "And I'll wait as long as it takes for you to know it, too."

Marcus's eyes gleamed with moisture. "It might be a long wait," his voice cracked just a little.

"Anything worthwhile usually is," Blair countered. She kissed him then, and Marcus found himself pulling her even closer. So close he felt her heartbeat against his own chest. They were both left panting for air when the kiss finally ended. Marcus's pulse was racing and a familiar throb made itself known for the briefest moment before fading.

Blair grinned. "Something tells me it might not be as long a wait as you think."

Marcus simply smiled back.


	14. Love

**A/N:** Yeah, I know. Took me long enough. Hopefully, this was worth the wait. ;-)

***ADULT CONTENT!* **Look away, kiddies!

**Disclaimer: I am not looking to get sued. I make no claim to anything.**

**love [luv]**

**(**_plural_** loves)**

_n_

1. very strong affection: _an intense feeling of tender affection and compassion_

2. passionate attraction and desire:_a passionate feeling of romantic desire and sexual attraction_

_Resistance base, one month later..._

Neither of them expected it to happen the way it finally did. There was no fanfare, no extreme circumstance, no emotions running high. It happened subtly, naturally, like they'd been doing it for years together.

Their team had come back from a long, exhausting assignment. Blair didn't have the energy or motivation to properly care for Kim, so she dropped the dog off at the kennels for the keepers to see to. She leaned heavily on Marcus as they made their way to their chamber. He was just as tired - not physically, which seemed impossible - but tired nonetheless. They stowed their gear, grabbed a change of clothes, and shuffled down to the communal showers where they proceeded to scrub away the day's grime under the tepid water. Marcus finished first and returned to their quarters, dressed in shorts and an old T-shirt. He sprawled on his side of the bed and dozed for a few minutes, waking when Blair returned and dropped the privacy cloth across the chamber's entrance. Tonight she was wearing a tank-top and sweatpants.

"I feel almost human again," she groaned as she gave her wet hair a final drying off with a threadbare towel and tossed the damp cloth into the hamper. Marcus watched as she wandered over to the age-speckled mirror propped against the wall - a lucky find by one of the other salvage teams which Blair bartered a pair of good boots for. She picked up a brush from the small table beside the mirror and proceeded to brush the tangles out of her damp hair. Marcus's gaze was riveted. For some reason, he always found the sight of a woman brushing her hair kind of sensual. Blair's long brown tresses soon flowed in natural waves past her shoulders. Marcus recalled the first time he saw her remove her pilot's helmet to let her hair spill out in all its glory. It was her one true vanity, and he was grateful that she indulged herself in it.

Marcus rose from the bed and moved to stand behind her. He put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. He looked at their shared reflection in the mirror and saw Blair smile as she leaned into his solid frame and rested her hands on his encircling arms. "I hate being so tired," she murmured, "Why is it I'm about ready to drop and you're still going strong?"

Marcus kissed her temple. "One of the pluses of being a cyborg, I guess."

"Lucky bastard."

He snorted in amusement, then nuzzled the side of her neck. He smelled the homemade soap she'd used, and beneath that, her own warm scent. "You smell good," he muttered against her skin. He kissed her neck, tugged the strap of her tank-top down to kiss her exposed shoulder.

Blair shivered at the feel of his lips. She turned her head to meet those lips with her own. The kiss was slow and sensual, tongues curling against each other. Blair's exhaustion was soon forgotten as the heat began to rise in her. She didn't even notice when the brush fell from her grip and clattered to the floor. She turned in Marcus's embrace to wrap her arms around his neck. When their kiss finally ended, she whispered, "Let's go to bed." It was obvious from her tone that sleep was now the last thing on her mind.

Marcus grinned and abruptly hefted her off the floor. Blair uttered a faint yelp of surprise as her legs automatically went around his waist. "I can walk the five feet to the bed on my own, y'know," she laughed.

"You complaining?" His hands were gripping her ass, softly squeezing both shapely mounds.

Blair's smile was dazzling. "Hell no."

He carried her to the bed and gently lowered her to the mattress before climbing in with her. He loomed over her, supported by his hands on either side of her head. She reached out with both hands to take hold of his head and pulled him down into another kiss. It started slow, then escalated into breathlessness.

"Still tired?" Marcus panted.

Blair shook her head.

"Me neither." He crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn't long before they both shed their tops and Marcus's rough hands covered her breasts. Blair moaned and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close so she could grind against him. That was when she felt the hard bulge prodding her inner thigh. This was nothing new during their more heated moments, but usually the condition faded in a few seconds. This time, an elated Blair realized, it showed no signs of abating. It was all she could do not to react. She worried that bringing it to Marcus's attention might make him self-conscious and ruin the moment.

Marcus trailed kisses down her throat, past her collarbone, he nuzzled the space between her breasts, then moved to take her left nipple into his mouth. Blair moaned and raked her nails down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. As Marcus tugged on her nipple with his teeth, he pulled down her sweats and panties until she was able to kick them off the rest of the way. He cupped her mound, its heat almost searing his palm. She was so wet he slid two fingers into her with ease. He pumped them in and out while his thumb rubbed her clit in tight circles.

Blair cried out and arched beneath him. Her fingers tugged desperately at the waistband of his shorts. "Off. Now."

Her demand startled Marcus. He'd never taken off his pants before. What was the point? But he didn't hesitate to obey this time. He kept his eyes on her, however. Some peripheral instinct kept him from consciously thinking about the throbbing flesh between his legs. He flung off his shorts and quickly lay his body over Blair's, skin against skin, with nothing in between.

"I love you," Marcus whispered hoarsely.

"I love you, too," Blair responded. Then she raised her hips and guided him into her.

Marcus gasped at the feel of her warm sheath engulfing him. His astonished gaze wandered down the length of their bodies to where they were joined, then rose to meet Blair's compassionate eyes. He felt tears of fear and hope well up and he managed to force the next words from his constricted throat, "Tell me if I hurt you."

Blair smiled and kissed him tenderly. "You won't hurt me."

Tentative, he started with a gentle rocking of the hips. When Blair showed no discomfort, even bucked impatiently under him, he deepened his thrusts. His fears and doubts soon melted away under the onslaught of sensations. Blair was moaning with every downstroke, rising to meet him each time. She lifted her legs until her heels dug into the small of his back, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. Marcus buried his face in the side of her neck and groaned. His hips snapped forward and a cry was wrenched from Blair's throat. Alarmed by the sound, Marcus raised his head and looked at her. "Did I hurt you?"

Blair's response was to grab his ass with both hands and forced him closer. "Don't fucking stop!"

Marcus laughed in relief. "Whatever you say."

* * *

Milo hummed to himself as he walked down the tunnel leading to Marcus and Blair's chamber. They hadn't shown up at the mess for dinner and Tabs convinced her husband to take them a tray. "They need a good meal as much as they do a rest," she'd reasoned.

As he approached the chamber entrance Milo noticed the privacy cloth was down. He opened his mouth to call out a greeting - a standard tactic in lieu of knocking - when a sudden noise gave him pause. It sounded like a moan, a loud one. A second later he heard another, this time in a woman's voice. Milo's eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut. Something told him now was not the time to ply them with his wife's cooking. That decided, he turned and headed back the way he came, a huge grin working its way across his face.

"About damn time."

* * *

Blair felt like her bones had turned to jelly as she collapsed on top of Marcus. If she was exhausted before this sexual marathon, she was a breath away from comatose now. She smiled at the steady pounding of Marcus's powerful heart just beneath her ear. Hardly sounded worked up at all. She shouldn't have been surprised. Cyborgs apparently had incredible stamina.

"Gonna need another shower," she mumbled.

Marcus chuckled. "Later. Go to sleep now, baby. You need it."

"You sound smug."

"Maybe a little," he smirked, "Not like I haven't earned it."

Blair laughed weakly. Marcus lifted her right hand to his lips, kissed the remaining fingertips and then her palm. "Know what else I feel?"

"What?"

"Relieved. Content." He rested her damaged hand on his chest, beside her head. "Human." He stared up at the rocky ceiling of their chamber. "I feel like a man again."

"You are a man." Blair placed a light kiss on his chest. "If a non-stop marathon of amazing sex doesn't prove it, I don't know what could."

Marcus somehow managed to drag a blanket over them without disturbing Blair. He stroked her long hair in a slow rhythm that lulled her further. "Love you..." she murmured before drifting off.

He smiled, then closed his eyes and let himself relax until he also fell asleep.


End file.
